Brothers and Sons
by FarenMaddox
Summary: Sequel to Save Me! Harry and Draco are teaching together, trying to solve a series of mysterious attacks on students, and track down Max Cross.  A magazine starts a smear campaign on these two & Hogwarts, but unidentified readers fight back. Not slash!
1. Prologue: Rosemary's Golden Opportunity

**First, my warnings: (sorry, just covering my ass ;-P )**

I have decided to rate this story T, but please keep this fact in mind: I've got a really sick character in this one, and the story touches on a subject that a lot of people (myself included) find very disturbing. So be warned that although the characters don't swear, etc., any more than they used to, there is a really touchy subject in the story.

Also, this story is more mystery than adventure. There isn't anything extremely exciting in this one, but there is a search into some mysterious happenings and hidden identities. It also goes deeper into characters I've introduced and further explores their relationships, rather than making a bunch of new ones. If that isn't what you're looking for, _Brothers and Sons_ is not for you.

Lastly, this story is a sequel, not a new creation. A few characters/situations won't make sense without first reading _Save Me_. You can probably get by without reading the first one, but I'm not going to go back and explain things that already happened.

So, with all that said, I hope you will enjoy this story. This slightly AU world has been a lot of fun to create and delve into. Happy reading!

Faren

Prologue

Rosemary Carthy's Golden Opportunity

Rosemary ignored Kevin's nagging as she finished packing her desk into a box that had once contained the plates and salad plates in her house. They were stylish dishes, with an Asian design she liked. She'd had one or two men comment on it while they ate her home cooking, but the majority of them only wanted to see what sort of design she had on her bedsheets. The answer was none, they were gray satin, but by the time they got there it didn't matter anymore.

No one in this office knew she was quite so carefree about sex, because she'd never had it with a plain old person—least of all Kevin, the annoying man hopping around her desk and begging to know why she was leaving and where she was going. Rosemary had gotten a taste for wizards in her early twenties, and that hadn't changed in the last ten years. Of course, she wasn't so loose as all that—she could remember distinctly each wizard, and she knew the number was under twenty—but she'd maintained an image of such prudery here at the office that no one would believe it.

"Kevin, please, would you let me finish!" she snapped, unable to ignore his chatter anymore.

Kevin stopped and stared at her with hurt in his eyes, and she sighed dramatically. The twenty-seven-year-old was shorter than her, skinny to the point of being described as gangling, and had acne scars on his cheeks. How did he think she was ever going to consider his advances? She was an attractive woman with far more social graces than he. Never mind that her waist was looking a little thick and she'd discovered a gray hair in her auburn locks yesterday morning. She'd dye her hair and take up jogging, if it came to it. Attraction was the key to her industry, attraction the key to getting people to talk. When you wrote for the tabloids, nothing was more important than a sharp eye, provided the eye had the right amount of mascara framing it.

Kevin's gaze still on her, Rosemary picked up the nameplate from her desk (_Rosemary Carthy_ stood out against the gleaming gold as the sun caught it) and threw it into the box. There. That was everything. She was ready to go.

"But Rosemary," Kevin whined again, "you're the _best_. You always get the _juiciest_ stories." No doubt he was referring to her exclusive article on the newest singing sensation's bedroom secrets, which had raised their sales handsomely. "How can you leave?"

"I'm sorry, Kevin," she said, grinning because she wasn't sorry at all and she didn't care that he knew it. "I'm simply not interested in writing anymore."

"Did you and Baker quarrel? What happened?"

"I'm just tired of this format," she shrugged. "I want to do something a little more serious."

"Are you going to write for a regular paper?" he asked, aghast.

"No, Kevin. You won't see my name in print again." And that was true. He would never see it. Because Kevin was not part of the world she'd been born into, and he never would be. He was too normal. He was one of those people who'd never wrap his head around it. It was why the Statue of Secrecy existed.

As she carried her box downstairs, calling answers to the farewell cries of her colleagues, she was smiling inwardly. The Statue of Secrecy didn't do much good when there was a reporter like Rosemary Carthy on the case. The world she'd been born into wasn't the world she'd been raised in. She'd rediscovered it on her own. She'd tracked it down. Because she was a bloody brilliant investigator, of course. She'd had to track down her birth parents. She'd been told when she was ten that she was adopted, but her adoptive parents had never allowed her to seek out the people who gave her up. She did it anyway, and she'd found them when she was in college. They lived in a place called Godric's Hollow. They were wizards. She was what they called a Squib. This defect in her breeding, she surmised, was the reason they'd given her up. What they said was she would be happier, as a Squib, in a world of equals, rather than looked upon as deformed in some way by their world. A load of rubbish.

She wasn't among equals, she thought as she hailed a cab away from her building. She might not be a witch herself, but she was a damn sight more interesting than this cabbie, all the same. She'd sought out wizards and witches ever since. The handsome ones, she invited over for dinner. The ugly ones, she interrogated to learn what she could about magic. She'd taken out subscriptions to the _Daily Prophet_, to _Witch Weekly_, and to _The Quibbler_. Therefore, she'd spent her entire professional career in the Muggle world leading a sort of double life—by day, the tabloid reporting star, by night, enthralled by the vicious attacks and abrupt change to goodwill and fawning over one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior of the Wizarding World. She'd spent this last few months reading stories about the discovery of his old enemy Draco Malfoy.

Then finally, _finally_, she'd been discovered. She'd received an invitation that she'd have been a complete goose not to jump on immediately. She'd been approached by a witch named Tabitha who knew her writing, and been asked to be on the senior writing staff of a new magical magazine. A weekly publication that would include news stories, editorials, and a few more colourful pieces to attract the less stuffy readers. Rosemary was thrilled, dazzled, and elated. She was going to work in the magical community at last. After spending ten years trying to seduce it into loving her, someone had finally taken notice.

The cabbie seemed a little bewildered when she had him drop her off in front of a pub that was closed for renovations, but he was happy enough with the tip she handed over as she and her box that once held Asian plates exited his vehicle. She stood at the front door of the closed-up establishment, trying to remember her instructions. Then she wedged the box against the wall with her hip to free up her hands. She traced a symbol on the grimy glass window set into the door, her other hand on the doorhandle. As soon as she completed the symbol, she twisted the handle, and to her delight, the door opened. Hoisting up the box, she stepped in. The nameplate gleamed faintly as she left the daylight behind and entered the gloom, shutting the door behind her with her foot.

At first, she was disappointed. The room had a long bar, thick with dust, and no barstools. The wall behind it had been torn out and never repaired. Then she saw a dim ray of light coming from a door at the top of the stairs to the left of the bar, and she hurried up them with her heart in her throat.

"This is it," she muttered, then gagged on the dust she'd stirred up in the air. "My golden opportunity."

Just as she was about to kick at the door by way of knocking, someone flung it open and smiled at her broadly. "You must be Ms. Carthy."

She smiled back. "I'm Rosemary."

"Yes, of course. I'm Lola. Come on in. Oh, dear, it _is_ a bit filthy down there," she said in dismay, peering over Rosemary's shoulder and down the stairs. "Sorry, none of us have ever used that entrance."

Rosemary looked into the room behind Lola with glee. An owl sat on a perch next to the largest desk, which was littered with papers and quill pens lying discarded. There were three smaller desks, and a roaring fireplace. The room was a little toasty, with the fire, but it was all very fine to her eyes. There was a partition in the back of the room with a flimsy door set into it. The door bore a single word on it. _Editor_. Rosemary felt a thrill of excitement. She'd never seen the editor, didn't even know the name or gender of the editor. But surely, one had to be very important to become the editor of a magazine for the magical community.

"This will be your desk here," Lola was saying. "The girl you spoke to before, Tabitha, this is her desk. She ought to be along any—"

The fireplace made an odd sound, but it didn't frighten Rosemary. She'd never seen it happen, but she'd heard about it often enough. And then the witch she'd met, Tabitha Talent, stepped out of the fireplace, giggling to herself over something. The "something" appeared out of the fireplace only moments later, a young man who caught her up and grabbed her, nuzzling his face into her neck and mingling his giggles with hers. It was left up to Lola, rolling her eyes and grimacing, to inform Rosemary that this was her other co-worker Geoffrey Puck. But Rosemary already knew Geoffrey. He'd eaten off her Asian plates and slept under her gray silk bedsheets once. She grinned wickedly when he looked up and saw her. He just grinned back through a profusion of tawny, close-trimmed whiskers, and went back to nuzzling Tabitha's neck.

Rosemary looked around the room once more, then sat down at her new desk with a sigh of pure pleasure and opened her box up on her lap. She'd only just set down her nameplate, which caught the firelight and winked merrily at her, when the door to the editor's office opened and another little thrill went through her. The woman who stepped out was dressed in a skirt that looked like brown snakeskin and a jacket to match. Her blond curls rimmed a severe face with shocking red lipstick slashing across an equally severe mouth.

"Geoffrey, Tabitha, please. This is a place of business, and we have work to get done," she said in a tone that was almost simpering. She turned to Rosemary, eyed the nameplate, and smiled, pursing those plump red lips. "You must be my new reporter. Welcome to _Wandwork_. I'm Rita, Rita Skeeter."

"Lovely to meet you, Ms. Skeeter."

"I'm very excited about the quality of your work, and I think you're going to fit right in here. I have your first assignment. Are you ready?"

Rosemary's stomach flipped, and she nearly burst up out of her chair. "Of course."


	2. Chapter 1: The First Sign of Trouble

Chapter One

The First Sign of Trouble

Draco hung up the phone and smiled. Tuck knew a few guys over here, and he said there was nothing in the pipeline about Max Cross. Tuck also said that if Draco—he still called him "Drew"—didn't get his ass back to New York sometime to congratulate Bonnie on making honor roll, said ass was going to get kicked. Draco had promised that he would visit next summer, as he'd spent all this summer dealing with bad press and a recovery from having his leg stripped down and rebuilt. Apparently, Lisa hadn't been too torn up about not seeing him—criminals, her daughter could be around, but she drew the line at known murderers. Tuck said she'd come around, she just needed reminding of how many times Draco had saved Tuck's life in the past. At least Tuck was happy to see him ditch the cane. He thought it was weird there was nothing to be done for his missing eye, and thought Draco was crazy not to attempt to regain his original facial structure. Pomfrey had offered to try to rebuild his face, but Draco decided he'd rather be asymmetrical than look like his half-brother.

As he started walking, still smiling, a very pretty young lady started smiling back, and he felt his face twist into a grimace. She shot him an angry, hurt look and strode past. He was over that, and had no use for him who were attracted to dangerous men. There was really only one woman he wanted, anymore. Which meant he was destined to be alone, because there was absolutely no way he could have a relationship with Vianne Edwards. They hadn't spoken since his identity had come out nearly five months ago. He'd barely spoken to Ran, and they'd seen each other every day until the end of the term last year. That hope was lost to him.

Ah, well, at least he had good news to take back to Hogwarts, where he was heading right now. After a summer alone in Malfoy Manor, he was moving back to the school for the fall term, which started in two days. Well, two pieces of good news, really. Max Cross wasn't acting up, and Draco hadn't touched a potion of any kind in a full week. Since Potter had started firecalling him every night, he'd managed to stay away from it a little more all the time, and today marked a week of solid nothing. Of course, it hadn't been particularly pleasant. He had lost all the weight he'd gained at Hogwarts over the last year, and he knew his eyes were a bit bloodshot and ringed in dark circles from a lack of sleep. But he felt . . . free. His step, though still hitching, was lighter now. He was starting to feel like he was truly his own man.

At first, he'd had to try very, very hard not to resent the fact that it was Potter calling him up to check on him. But over the last three weeks, it had become less of a struggle. In fact, as lonely as Malfoy Manor was, he almost welcomed the opportunity to talk. They'd started talking less about his progress and more about him. Draco had been given the chance to explain himself to the only man he thought he truly needed to offer the explanation to. And Potter had explained a few things to him, as well. They were working their way toward understanding each other at last, now close to ten years since the incident that they'd thought had made such an understanding impossible.

He Disapparated as soon as he was sure no one could see him, turning and aiming himself for the path leading to Hogwarts castle.

* * *

Draco thought Potter would be in the rooms he shared with his children, but not a single member of the family was in it. He didn't know where they all might be, and didn't really care where Potter's children were, so he headed for the first place he could think of—the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom where Potter would be teaching in a few days' time. Luckily enough, Potter was there, hunched over some kind of magazine, mumbling something to himself.

"Potter, hello. I've just arrived, and I wanted to let you know that I spoke to . . ."

When Potter turned around, Draco trailed off and stared. What in the name of Salazar was wrong with the man? He looked simultaneously like he'd swallowed Bubotuber pus and watched someone die. Well, Potter had watched several people die after all, he reminded himself, but he was only reading a magazine.

"Potter? Is something wrong?"

"Crash is just a funny nickname," he whispered.

"Potter, start making sense or I'm sending you to the mental ward at St. Mungo's."

"Sirius. We call him Crash."

"I am aware of that."

"Because he's so careless. He's always hurting himself."

"I know, Potter. I saw him do it, when I was here a few weeks ago. He fell down an entire flight of stairs. I watched you mend his wrist."

Potter nodded slowly, and struggled to control his face. "He hurt himself badly last week." He was still whispering. "Madam Pomfrey wasn't here. I had to take him to St. Mungo's, and he was chattering on like it was going out of style. Before we left, every Healer on duty knew his entire medical history. So it could have been anyone."

Draco had no idea what Potter was getting at, and he nodded to the magazine. "What's that you're reading?"

Potter held up the magazine. The glossy cover spelled out _Wandwork Weekly_ and had a picture of Potter's young son sitting on a bed in St. Mungo's, whitefaced but plainly interested in the proceedings, as they reattached the boy's left leg at the knee. Draco's eye widened.

"What happened?"

"He 'borrowed' my wand when I fell asleep writing out a lesson plan after dinner."

"Is he all right?"

"He's fine. He's even been a little more careful this week."

"Then what's the problem?"

Potter's eyes were on the magazine again. "How dare you?" he hissed at the pages. Then, abruptly and without reason, he dropped his face into his hands and let out a harsh choking sound.

"Potter?"

The man's shoulders shook, and Draco was quite alarmed. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't really sitting in Potter's office watching him cry over a magazine article, but it didn't really work, what with Potter's absolutely silent sobs unnerving him. Unable to think of anything else to do, he reached out and took the magazine from the desk. It was opened to the article written about Sirius Potter, a.k.a. Crash, and Draco had only to skim a few lines to discover the problem. He was shocked.

He didn't know how shocked until he heard the pages rustle and realized he'd dropped the magazine on the floor. "But . . . but . . ." he sputtered. "That's _not true_." He sounded outraged, he thought with a sort of detached surprise. Why was he so upset? It wasn't him or his child. But the article was so glaringly, blatantly ridiculous that Draco had to wonder how this _Wandwork Weekly_ even functioned.

"What a pile of trash," he said simply, kicking the magazine out of the way. "Potter, you're the Savior of the wizarding world. You think anyone of them are going to believe this rubbish about _child abuse_? Merlin's beard, you're Harry Potter. No one will stand to hear you accused of abusing your son."

Potter looked up at him, his face red and damp and miserable. "It's only their second issue and they sold out their printing in one day."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. "Listen, Potter, people might read it for a laugh, but no one's going to honestly believe it. If they did, they'd have shipped the kids off to their mother by now." _Oh, please don't let them be there already_, he thought, remembering their absence.

Thankfully, they didn't seem to be, for Potter just shook his head and stared at his desk. "I wish she was here," he muttered. He seemed embarrassed that he'd had that little breakdown in front of Draco. Draco wasn't sure what to do. It wasn't as though Potter hadn't seen some of his weak points by now. He'd firecalled Draco one night to find him huddled on the floor in front of the fire, trembling nearly uncontrollably and desperately waiting the distraction of his conversation. Draco managed to reach out a hand, pat Potter's shoulder, and tell him things would work out.

"After all, with the number of people who'll be here watching your every move, it will be a little hard to hide your tyrannical rages and outbursts of violence," he quipped.

Potter shook his head again, unable to smile or even look up. "Thanks, Draco," he said quietly.

Potter had taken to calling him that recently. He hadn't been able to bring himself to return the favour yet, no matter how many times he reminded himself that co-workers ought to be on a first-name basis. But having to watch him cry certainly was a step in the right direction. He almost felt an instinct of protectiveness for the other man right now, as if he would step in the way and shield Potter from further outrageous accusations. Maybe it was just that he looked like Draco himself did—entirely too thin and weary, almost haunted. He hadn't been sleeping, either.

"What were you saying when you came in?" Potter asked him.

Draco shook his head, as if that would clear it of the shielding instinct. "Only that my Muggle contact hasn't caught a word about Cross."

"That's great," Potter said honestly. "My cousin hasn't seen hide nor hair of him, either." He frowned. "Maybe that's not great. Maybe he's planning something."

"Oh, let's not go borrowing trouble. It's more likely he's realized he can't get the house or me, so he's giving up."

Potter shrugged. "I hope so. But you're right. We'll worry about him when we find him. Kingsley's got Dan looking out for him, too."

"Good."

"Well, how are you?" Potter asked in a lighter tone, getting up.

"Clean."

"I'm glad," Potter replied, and Draco allowed himself to feel some pride in himself. "I knew it wouldn't be long."

"Did you?"

"You've already proved you've got the determination for it. I figured you just needed someone to report to."

"Thanks for your help." It had gotten much easier to say thank you lately, he reflected, even to Potter. "I'm not sure I'm there yet, but I'm well on my way."

Potter managed a smile, though he clearly wasn't feeling it. "I'll keep an eye on you."

Draco nodded, swallowing his pride yet again.

"I've got to go get Charley, Professor Thumbley was watching her for me," Potter said, excusing himself. Draco stepped aside to let him pass, but he stopped in the doorway. "Oh, Dorcas, I was just coming to get her."

"Well, here she is, the lamb. Fresh from her nap."

Draco peered out into the hall to see Thumbley carrying the squirming, red-haired toddler toward Potter.

"Daddy!" the little girl yelled, stretching her pudgy little hands out toward him.

Harry—it was impossible to think of him as "Potter" when he was being a father—took her, and immediately threw her up over his head, caught her, and swung her around. She shrieked in a really ear-piercing way, and Draco winced. It died down to uncontrollable giggles as Harry rubbed two days' growth of beard carefully on her neck, and her laughter was like the sun coming out from behind thick clouds.

"Daddy, let's play outside!" the two-year-old commanded, and her daddy agreed.

"Thanks, Dorcas," he said humbly, tucking Charley firmly against his side while he carried her.

"It's no trouble, Harry," she assured him with an affectionate smile for his daughter. "Your Charley is an angel."

Harry grunted as the squirming child kicked him in the ribs. "Yeah, an angel all right," he wheezed.

"And don't you worry about a thing, Harry. None of us on the staff believe that nonsense in that new weekly. We know you would never do such a thing."

Dorcas marched off without knowing the effect her words would have, but Draco saw it. Just like that, the clouds covered the sun again.


	3. Chapter 2: Professors and Pods

Chapter Two

Professors and Pods

The Great Hall was abuzz with the voices of children and teenagers, so loud and so many that their conversation was little more than a roaring in the ears. The older students had arrived in the thestral-drawn carriages and were seating themselves at the tables only to jump up crying out a greeting to a friend they'd spotted. Harry watched Matt shake hands with his friend Basil, whom he'd seen earlier in the summer, then sit down at the Gryffindor table beside Berengaria Talbott. He leapt to his feet to wave enthusiastically at a couple of his housemates.

"Guys! Down here!" he called.

The newcomers seated themselves across the table from Matt and Bear. Harry recognized Kerry Wood immediately—he looked a great deal like his father. He recognized Trevor Jordan because he'd seen him in his uncle's joke shop before. The pale girl should be Letty Burns.

Harry didn't miss the glances that shot his way every few seconds from every table. Many people there recognized him, though he was sitting up at the staff table. His thoughts were mostly with Charley and Sirius, hoping they were both still asleep, the way he'd left them when a house elf had come to watch them. He was pleased, overall, with the students here. Not as many as he'd hoped for, but more than he'd expected. It seemed not too many families had actually done as they'd threatened and pulled their children out of Hogwarts. Of course, it could also be that a number of families who'd been privately educating previously had decided to send their children to the famous Harry Potter, and that accounted for the number. Either way, there was a good turnout.

With Zacharias Smith gone, the duties of Hufflepuff House and Deputy Headmaster had fallen on Dorcas Thumbley, and it was she who marched at the head of the first years that filed in when the doors opened, a dramatic silence falling on the rest of the school. Harry felt glad to see the Sorting Ceremony again, though nervous. Recent events had changed a lot of opinions about the houses, and the Hat did like to let the kids think for themselves a bit.

Harry glanced along the staff table and saw the faces of his new colleagues set and ready for however this went. The line of first years was quite large, Harry thought, as large as it had been the year he started school himself, if not larger. A great number of wizards and witches had been attracted by the controversy here, it seemed, and had sent their children for a test run. He looked at Draco and saw the man holding onto the edge of the table with white knuckles. He was being very quiet about it and very secretive, but from this vantage point, Harry could see the Potions teacher going to pieces. He was afraid that Gryffindor would be ignored and abandoned, now that it was out that he was in charge of it. Harry had told him that hundreds of years of history couldn't be destroyed by a single person, but he, too, had wondered.

They needn't have worried. Gryffindor gained nine students, while Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw got six apiece. The real shock was Slytherin—seven new members. At first, it didn't make sense, but then Harry realized what had happened. Draco Malfoy had proven himself to be a good and brave man—as had Severus Snape, for Harry had made sure there was a piece printed in the paper on Draco's information about him. Slytherin House was acceptable right now, even a place of pride. Children who would normally disguise those parts of themselves were embracing them instead. He looked over at Draco again, and saw that he'd let go of the table and started to relax. The new Gryffindors were all looking up at the staff table with awed whispers. He wondered if Gryffindor's attraction was Draco . . . or himself. Perhaps both.

He hadn't even realized McGonagall had started her speech-making until Claudette Milles nudged him. He'd just been welcomed to the school. He jumped up and waved to roars of approval and applause. No one seemed too broken up about Zacharias' departure. McGonagall gave the usual admonishments for the beginning of the term: the Forbidden Forest was still deadly, Argus Filch was still cranky, and failure to recognize these two facts could lead to all manner of unpleasantness. Then there was food, and it was delicious as ever.

Harry glanced down the table at all of the teachers, reminiscing and considering in turn. Hagrid was here of course—good, faithful Hagrid, who had been there through thick and thin—and Sinistra, the Astronomy professor. Sinistra was talking to Trelawney, who was as batty as ever; the Divination teacher had introduced herself to Harry as though she hadn't the foggiest who he was. The Muggle Studies professor was a woman called Plumm, and she was chatting with Dorcas, whom Harry had already grown to like. He liked anyone who doted on his daughter so. McGonagall had the place right in the middle. Then there was Draco, who was talking to Greg Kilburne, whom Harry hadn't even properly met yet but was seated right beside him. On his other side was Professor Milles, the rawboned French woman who'd taken over Ravenclaw for Flitwick, with whom she was conversing. Harry remembered the first time he'd looked over this table and seen Snape and Quirrell, and felt his scar pain him. His scar hadn't pained him for quite some time now, but the memory of that day made him swipe his forehead with the back of his hand.

"So," Kilburne said, turning to him when he was wondering if Sirius had given the house elf trouble, "how does it feel to be back at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled. "Very strange."

The younger man nodded. "I know what you mean. Of course, I'd barely left before I was back."

"What made you decide to return to teach, instead of continuing your own studies, professor?"

He laughed. "I'm not used to people calling me that! Greg, it's Greg."

Harry nodded. "All right."

"Well, anyway, McGonagall hadn't had an Ancient Runes teacher in two years, and I thought to myself that my studies wouldn't get me much better than what she was offering. It's a good position, for a wizard, a very respected one. I couldn't ask for better, especially at my age."

Harry shrugged. "I hear if you stop a rampaging villain, they offer you the Auror office," he joked.

"Did they really?" Greg asked, apparently delighted at this piece of information, or maybe just amused. "And you didn't take it?"

"I hadn't even finished school yet!"

"I guess when you're a hero, they don't mind that."

"I hear you have a brother that's just finished school," Harry said, trying to change the subject away from his heroics before they could really be started on.

"Jackson," Greg replied happily. "Very good kid, my brother. Well, I suppose I'd better call him a man now. Anyway, he's a great person. Did very well here."

"What is he doing, now?"

"He decided to get out and see a bit of the world."

"What, on his own?"

"He's a solitary person. It used to be pretty common for young wizards to explore before settling down in life. Leave it to Jack to bring back a fifty-years-dead tradition."

"I don't know, I think it sounds like fun. An adventure, you know?"

"Like you need anymore adventure in your life, Potter," Draco spoke up from Greg's other side. From the tone, Harry expected to see the sneer that had been directed at him so often in the past. Instead, Draco was smiling. Joking. With him. Well, why not? They'd gotten past their original discomfort with each other, Harry thought, over the last few weeks of speaking every night.

"You could tell us all about the foreign travels, though, couldn't you?" Harry joked back. "Discovering new cultures and all."

"You're never going to give it up, are you? It's just an iPod, Harry. For _music_. You do listen to music, don't you?"

"A what?" Greg asked curiously, and he wrinkled his nose. "Do you keep your missing eye in a pod?"

Draco choked on whatever he was drinking. "No, no, not 'eye' like eyeball," he laughed. "'I' like the letter."

"They have pods for letters?" Greg asked in confusion.

Draco sighed in defeat. "It's in my room, I'll show it to you later. It's just a little electronic device that plays music."

"Oh, electronic," Greg said with an air of understanding. "Muggle stuff." He eyed Draco suspiciously. "I didn't know you liked Muggle stuff."

Draco sighed again, very dramatically, making Harry laugh. "Never mind."

With that, the prefects got up to show the first years to their dormitories. The older students all got up and started heading off, too. Harry caught Matt's eye when Matt glanced up at the table and gave him a wave. All his things had been moved from the rooms he'd shared with the family over to Gryffindor tower earlier today. Matt waved back, looking happier than Harry had seen him in months.

Draco and Greg both got up to ensure that their students found their way and got settled in, and Harry was glad to have the excuse to leave to check on the kids. Somehow, leaving Crash with only a house elf for supervision had seemed like a bad idea, especially in light of the article in that terrible magazine, but there hadn't been much choice tonight. Tomorrow, he had to see Crash off to his first day of primary school, so he was glad to find his son sleeping just as he'd left him. He thanked the house elf, whose name turned out to be Bobsey, and sat down to look over his lesson plans one more time before bed.

While he was scratching out a bit of the introduction he had planned and penning in a new line, he suddenly threw his pen down and dropped his face into his hands.

"I just want to go home," he told the wavering candle on his desk.


	4. Chapter 3: The New Routine

Chapter Three

The New Routine

Harry stood in front of the room full of fifth year students and smiled. Then a vision flashed past him, and his smile fell. For one second, he'd seen a room full of different young faces, all gazing at him eagerly, waiting for him to start the lesson. His mind started cataloguing them before he could help it.

_Cho . . . wonder what ever happened to her?_

_Dean Thomas . . . he's all right, isn't he?_

_Neville . . . dead._

_Luna . . . alive, thank Merlin._

_Hermione . . . so far away, now . . ._

_Colin Creevey . . . not the same._

_Dennis Creevey . . . dead._

_Seamus Finnegan . . . dead._

_Fred Weasley . . . dead._

_George Weasley . . . dead._

_Ron Weasley . . . he's . . . he's dead._

It was a horrible effort to stop thinking of them and focus on the faces that were actually before him. A couple of those faces looked concerned, and he wondered if he'd said all that aloud instead of just thinking it. A girl with shockingly purple hair was gazing into space dreamily, and her hair was slowly darkening to red. Two boys he'd been warned were troublemakers had their heads together and were whispering over something they were keeping out of sight under the desk. The Slytherin girl he'd been told was the only fifth-year Slytherin girl was ignoring the two boys from her house who were trying to catch her attention, and was writing something.

Harry straightened his shoulders and smiled again.

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. As I'm sure you all know, I'm your new professor for that subject, but I've been thinking: Professor Potter sounds awful. The Headmistress will probably kill me, but I'd love it if you'd just call me Harry."

A round of giggles came from a few feminine throats, but he ignored that.

"Your experience with this class has been great, since you've had the same teacher every year. I'm sorry that you aren't going to be able to finish out your education in this subject with Professor Smith, but I'm going to do my best, all right?"

"You've seen a damn sight more than he has, though," one of the two boys who'd been whispering before class said boldly.

"You think so? He fought in the war. He put two Death Eaters in Azkaban."

The boy shrugged. "You killed Voldemort."

Harry sighed. Well, they were fifteen, not kids, they could handle an explanation. "Listen. Defending yourself against Dark magic isn't glorious at all, at least not while you're doing it. It's frightening. And that kind of trouble isn't something you go looking for. I'm here to show you how to keep yourself and others from harm, I'm not here to tell you how to kill people. You've already got a pretty good grasp of what this subject entails. It's not going to miraculously become a life-and-death struggle just because I'm teaching it."

The room was silent.

"That said, I'm looking forward to this. I know a lot of things, have done a lot of things, that it will be my pleasure to teach you." Smiles started appearing on their faces, and their quiet didn't seem so oppressive now. "Hopefully the things I can teach you will equip you to keep our world safe."

Harry knew how curious they were about him, so after checking to ensure that they had their textbooks and that they were planning to read them, he let them ask him questions about his experiences. He'd figured there was no way he was going to get through an entire lesson without such questions, anyway. He'd rather not waste his time trying.

---Break---

Draco slumped down at his desk with a deep sigh. It had been a long day. He'd had the first years today, and most of them were extremely curious about him. He'd allowed himself a moment of happiness to see so many new Slytherins, but it had disappeared quickly when he'd realized that most of them were eager to see him reclaim that name and hand Gryffindor over to Potter. He didn't want that. He'd changed. The houses, individually, meant little to him anymore. He'd been happy to see a little more equality between the houses, and had no plans to recreate the division that had existed during his school days.

That hadn't been so bad, really. It was his third year class that had nearly killed him. Nothing had _happened_, but maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd been hoping for something to happen. Instead, he'd taught the lesson, and they hadn't made eye contact, not once. He was trying to sort out how he felt about that. He was angry. He was really, really angry.

Harry Potter poked his head into the room, looking strained and tired. "Well, how was it for you?"

Draco's anger was false, nothing but a flimsy front he'd constructed to contain what he was really feeling. He opened his mouth and the only thing that came out was a choking sound.

"Ran," he said, and couldn't say anything else. He clenched his hands into fists and controlled himself carefully.

Potter came in and walked over to him. "He's still not talking to you?"

He stared at his notes. In the quiet, he heard a dripping noise, and looked over to see that a student had spilled something on a table and left without cleaning it up. He picked up his wand and waved it, clearing up the mess, then set it back down, still wordless.

"I'm sure he'll come around," Potter said.

"I never thought he'd be the one who'd have a problem with me. I thought it would be Matt, if anybody."

"Matt . . . I think he would have forgiven you anyway. But, well, you remember what you told me, about when Matt took your wand?"

"I suppose so."

"You said he used it to attack Cross."

"Yes."

"Not the truly dangerous one. The one that looks like you."

"What are you getting at, Potter?"

"He fought his fears. He proved he's stronger than them. His nightmares have almost stopped, you know."

"You think he was able to forgive me because he attacked my brother?"

"I think in his mind, he attacked you. Not you, his teacher, but you as he saw you six years ago. Cross looked like his memory and acted like his memory. You're not the person he remembers, but Cross was a good surrogate. So he bested the nightmare, and he was able to accept you as you are."

"Potter, you've become entirely too profound, you know that?"

And that, apparently, was what made the man feel uncomfortable, of all things. "Er, well. All I'm saying is, you don't have to worry about Matt."

Draco shrugged. "I don't. Ran's the one who won't even look at me. I could understand it if he'd only heard my fake story, the Drew Stevens story. I was afraid he would hate me if he ever heard that. But the real story, who I really am . . . I guess I just thought we were close enough that he'd be able to forgive me."

"He doesn't need to forgive you," Potter said, sounding surprised. "You didn't do anything to him."

"I'm a menace to society."

"Were. You were. Not now. And not to him."

Draco frowned. "You're right. No wonder I can't figure out why he's angry with me. He doesn't have a reason to be." Then he thought of Vianne, and his spirits plummeted yet again. "He's protecting his mother."

"His mother?"

"He's keeping me away from her."

Potter coughed. "You . . . uh, know her then?"

Draco immediately decided to shut up. Vianne Edwards was not a subject he planned on discussing with Potter. Not ever.

"Never mind, Potter. Did you need anything else?"

At least the man was smart enough to see a dismissal when it was shoved at him. "No, just wanted to see if you made it through the day. I've got to go pick up my son now. See you."

When he was gone, Draco wondered why it didn't feel any better to have realized Ran's true intentions. He pictured Vianne, her honey-blond hair and willowy grace. His hand crept up to touch the patch over his eye. There had been a time when he would have considered himself equal to her. Not now.

---Break---

As Harry led Sirius inside, clutching his hand firmly to keep him from running off anywhere, Matt appeared, looking cheerful.

"Hi, Matt!" Sirius said happily, wrenching away from Harry to hug Matt around the waist. Matt was getting so tall, and Sirius . . . well, he wasn't going to be towering over anyone anytime soon.

"Hey, Crash! How was school?"

"It was boring," he pouted. "I have to learn how to read."

"Oh, the tragedy," Matt said in a dry voice, grinning at Harry. "Where's Charley, Dad?"

"Hopefully with Professor Thumbley. The babysitter down in Hogsmeade said she'd bring Charley up to the castle after classes. I'm going to drop off this rascal and go get her."

"You can go and find her, I'll watch Crash."

"Are you sure?"

But Matt was already taking his little brother's hand and pulling him down the corridor. "Come on, you can come see the common room! You'll love it!"

Harry shook his head. Matt had been moping all summer, and the change in him this week was incredible. Matt had always been so shy, and now he was practically jumping out of his robes to see all his friends. It seemed like he was fairly popular, or at least liked in his own house. Harry just hoped it didn't go to Matt's head. He'd hate to see him start acting like Kerry Wood.

When he tracked down Charley, she was only marginally with Professor Thumbley, who was putting away some bags of fertilizer while two girls Harry didn't know were playing some kind of hand-clapping game with his daughter and giggling and tickling her and making her laugh.

They scrambled up when they saw him, brushing nearly identical dark curls back from their faces.

"Hello, sir."

"Hello, Professor."

"Afternoon, girls. I see you've met my daughter."

"We showed her babysitter where the greenhouses were. She's _so_ cute."

Charley was shouting happily and clambering around his knees to be picked up. He bent down and grabbed her and returned his attention to the girls.

"I think I had you in class today, didn't I?" he addressed the one with glasses.

She nodded. "I'm Gwynn Kilburne. This is my sister Diane, she's got your class tomorrow."

"Oh, you're the professor's cousins," he realized.

They nodded nearly simultaneously, but the younger one giggled. "It's still so weird to call Greg 'Professor,'" she said. "Gwynn says you want to be called Harry, sir."

"I'll take anything but Professor Potter," he admitted.

Charley started to squirm and make whining noises of protest against her captivity.

"Charley, stop that."

"Won't!" she squealed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, girls, thank you for watching her, but I think somebody needs a nap."

"No nap!"

"Dorcas, good evening," he called to the professor, who was still moving fertilizer. She spared a moment to wave, then called for the girls to help her if they insisted on being in her greenhouse.

"Those are nice girls, right, Charley?" Harry said to his daughter, trying to stave off a tantrum of any kind.

"No nap!"

"Crash is home from school, aren't you excited to see him?"

"No nap!"

"And it's going to be time for dinner soon. Do you want noodles?"

"Noodles?" she asked, distracted.

"And peas."

And so, with promises of food, Harry got her to bed without any more nonsense, and sat by her stroking her soft red hair while she fell asleep. Twenty minutes, then he'd wake her for a little while to play before dinner. He hoped Crash was having fun.

"Do you like it here?" he whispered, looking down at Charlotte while she slept. "Are you happy? I'm doing my best, you know."


	5. Article 1

_How Could He?_

_An Investigative Report_

_By Rosemary Carthy_

As an investigative reporter, it is often my goal to answer the hard questions about people, even people as beloved as the savior of our world, Harry Potter. After my recent article on the visit to St. Mungo's by Potter and his son, I set out to answer one of these hard questions, a question many readers posed. "How could he?" As I look at a picture of the sweet-faced child, the question becomes ever harder to answer. Why would anyone, especially a loving father, abuse such a charming boy?

I asked this question to the esteemed Healer Warbeck Wackerford, whose speciality is in mental health and often lends his immeasurable expertise to the long-term ward of St. Mungo's. Healer Wackerford assured me that this pattern of behavior would not be unusual if Potter himself had experienced similar trauma as a child. Therefore, the proof that such abuse was possible would rest in the home Potter grew up in.

My quest to confirm this possibility took me to an unusual place—Surrey. Though many may not know this, Harry Potter was raised by Muggles in Little Whinging. I arrived in this location only to be disappointed. His uncle and aunt, Vernon and Petunia Dursley by name, no longer live in the area and could not be tracked down. However, I was fortunate to discover that a neighbor of this family knew Potter when he lived there. I was able to persuade Mrs. Arabella Figg, a Squib who was aware of Potter's magical background, to speak about Potter's life with the Dursleys.

4 Privet Drive

The house is a charming one, with a well-kept lawn and a very tidy appearance. It is the sort of home any normal boy might grow up in. But Harry Potter, far from being normal, did not grow up in the normal way. The Dursleys were known for their distaste of anything outside the routine, and their nephew was decidedly that. Their horror of his true heritage as a wizard led them to treat him very poorly.

"Never saw any affection, no," Mrs. Figg told me over our tea. "He was just the runty, unwanted delinquent they'd been saddled with."

While "runty" may seem a coarse description, it may also be seen as apt. For how is a boy supposed to grow up strong and healthy when he is forced to live in a cupboard under a staircase? For this cramped space is where Potter spent the first years of life. The spiders on the ceiling are bad enough, but the lock on the door is worse. Potter was treated like a criminal in a prison cell rather than the gifted boy he was. Pictures of the younger Harry Potter, looking nearly emaciated, suggest that he was even denied food.

When questioned, Mrs. Figg stated that she had never seen physical violence used on the boy wizard by his aunt or uncle—"but the cousin, he was a rough sort of boy," she recalled. The cousin, Dudley, was described by several neighbors as a large, loud, and temperamental child, a bully whose dislike for his cousin Harry was well-known. These neighbors were hesitant to speak, but I was able to gather that it was commonly believed that Dudley Dursley used physical violence on young Potter. From that, it is not a far stretch to assume Vernon Dursley did the same, perhaps on both boys. After all, who knows what goes on behind closed doors?

Healer Wackerford's Analysis

The brilliant healer shared my concerns about these findings when I brought them to him. His expertise in the area of wizard psychology is unquestionable, and his concern for the Potter children is grave.

"I can only conclude that Harry Potter is incapable of _not_ using violence," he said with assurance. "He lived through oppression and violence in his childhood, and he would consider this a normal part of a child's development."

Wackerford's diagnosis was even more solid when he took into account the experiences of the teenaged Potter during his years at Hogwarts and during the war with Voldemort. When removed from the unstable and hateful family who raised him, he was not introduced to a loving and safe environment. Instead, he was immediately plunged into a violent conflict with a dreadful enemy. This ongoing war, which lasted between Potter and Voldemort for eight years, would have only served to reinforce that which Potter's earlier experiences established. In Potter's mind, violence and even death are an intrinsic part of childhood. Pain is not to be feared or even avoided, as it is a normal occurrence.

Healer Wackerford concluded our interview with the most serious concerns regarding Potter's abilities as a parent. "He is certainly capable of inflicting harm on his children, even likely to do so," the healer told me. "Those children are in danger, even if he is a loving parent. His love is certain to express itself in painful ways."

Neglect . . . Or A Cover-up?

I will not ask why this issue of abuse has never been raised before. After all, who would suspect the Chosen One of child abuse? However, after bringing these findings to the Ministry of Magic with Healer Wackerford's recommendation, I was shocked to be rebuffed. The Ministry considered the information frivolous and in no way unique. They assured me they have been aware of Potter's upbringing for some time, and have already looked into the safety of his children. They seem certain that Potter is a model parent. I remain, as does Healer Wackerford, unconvinced.

This raises another question, one that I must track down as meticulously as I researched Potter's possible abuse. Why is the Ministry covering for Potter? With all the evidence at hand, why are the children still with him? Perhaps the more worrisome cover-up of all is that of the Hogwarts staff, who assuredly sees the violent tendencies of their newest teacher on a daily basis. Why does McGonagall refuse to comment on her new hire?

Any thinking person must come to the conclusion that our officials are blinding themselves to the truth. Savior or not, Harry Potter is a loose cannon. He has been given free reign by the Ministry of Magic and by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to hurt his children. And now we come to the most terrifying question of all: Are _your_ children safe?


	6. Chapter 4: Misgivings To Machinations

Chapter Four

Misgivings Turn To Machinations

Ginny Potter sat at her desk at work, trying to find a legal loophole that she was sure existed to get her client out of trouble. Usually Ministry-appointed to defend unrepresented wizards or witches in Ministry trials, her new case was in defense of the Ministry itself, for use of excessive force on a criminal. The criminal was a half-giant and the usual spells had bounced right off her. This half-giant was an unusually intelligent one, Ginny thought, finding someone to represent her before the Ministry. Ginny felt strange about arguing the case—it was almost like working against Hagrid. Of course, Hagrid hadn't been smuggling anything illegal for years.

As she flipped a dusty page in an extraordinarily thick book of magical law, she shot a dirty glare at the other three equally large tomes awaiting her. If it wasn't in here, it would be in one of those. But she couldn't concentrate, not a bit, and she finally closed the book with a snap, sending a cloud of dust into the air and making her cough. She waved a hand in front of her face, eyes watering, and cleared the air.

She knew the reason she couldn't focus. It wasn't hard to figure out what was bothering her so much. It was her family. It was the fact that when she went back to her flat tonight, her family wouldn't be there. She'd thought she would get used to that after a few weeks. She hadn't. It had been close to six months, and she felt no better about it than she ever had. It was why she'd never gotten around to the divorce. She couldn't bring herself to sever that last tie. She and Harry were separated, sure, but not divorced. Not yet.

She missed her children. She missed them badly. Sometimes, when she went to sleep at night, her legs twitching because they wanted to get up and make sure the children were safe in their beds first, the real pain would strike her. When that happened, when she felt the hole in her chest where her family should be, she would stop breathing. So much pain. Nobody should live through that much pain, with their arms wrapped around the hole in their gut to keep anything from spilling out. Wanting to scream but having no breath to do so. They'd been ripped right out of her. Her children. Her babies. And her husband.

Every time she saw them, every time she left them at the Burrow to be picked up by their father, it hurt a little bit more. She would have given anything to keep them, to never let them go. Well, almost anything. She wouldn't trade Harry's heart and soul for it, and she knew that's what it would take. As much as she loved her children, as much as her heart cried out to keep them close, she wouldn't destroy him that way. The children belonged with their father, because of how much he belonged with them.

She opened her desk drawer and looked at the picture inside. Harry was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. There was a bundle wrapped in a blanket in his arms. Harry was looking down, his face alight with joy, and speaking to the bundle as a tiny, waving fist tried to grab his glasses. She touched one trembling finger to the glass covering the picture, touching his face.

"Harry," she whispered.

Someone knocked on the open door and she looked up to see Julius Thorndike standing there with his eyebrows raised.

"Are we going to lunch?"

Ginny slammed the drawer shut and stood up. "Yes, of course."

Julius had promised to help her find the loophole she was looking for. They were both Ministry lawyers, young stars in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. Julius was barely taller than she, but possessed of so much energy and confidence that he looked twice his size as he escorted her to the Ministry café on the ground floor. He was quite good-looking and knew it, constantly raking his fingers oh-so-casually through his thick brown hair. Sometimes, it made Ginny laugh to watch him, but not today. She was in no mood for humour today.

They chatted about inconsequentials as they waited in line to make their purchases—the weather, the workplace—until they finally approached the cashier and Ginny saw something that made her jaw drop in shock. She'd already seen _Wandwork Weekly_'s article about Sirius' hospital visit, which she'd known about the day it had happened and so had not been caught unawares. The conjectures raised in the article that Crash's accidents were more deliberate than previously suspected had made her laugh, albeit a bit angrily. But the picture on the magazine this week was of her husband, young, skinny, and bruised up. She suspected it had been taken after his fight with Quirrell at the end of his first year. The caption read "Harry Potter's Abusive Upbringing—Investigative Report inside!"

She snatched the magazine off the rack, aware that she was growling but unable to stop herself. She flipped through the article quickly, and came to the conclusion that it was a steaming pile of chicken shit, whatever the so-called expert had to say about it. Harry, her Harry, violent? Not so much, she thought, and her mind inexplicably returned to the picture she kept in her desk of Harry with newborn Sirius. That gentle, happy man didn't have a violent bone in his body. And it sickened her to see his life splashed across the pages for all the world to see. As much as it had been painful to have his life scrutinized by Rita Skeeter that one year, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, it was infinitely more disgusting to see the truth about his life with the Dursleys put on vulgar display.

Julius was staring at her, his hands held half-open in front of him, as though to either defend himself against blows or grab her if she made any sudden moves.

"I thought you'd already seen it," he said quietly.

Ginny tore the magazine into pieces and threw the scraps up into the air. She spat at one that landed by her foot.

"Hey!" the cashier protested. "You know, you have to pay for that!"

"Like hell I will," Ginny snarled. "That rag isn't worth the paper it's printed on."

The young witch looked nervous, and didn't say anything else. She flapped her hands uselessly, wondering if she should call her supervisor. Julius didn't say anything, just handed over the coins to pay for their meals and the magazine, and led Ginny away with a firm hand on her arm.

"Come on, let's sit down and eat our lunch," he said in a placating voice.

She wrenched her arm away, but followed him to a table and threw her tray down with a clatter. She plunked down in the seat, snatched up her sandwich, and took a huge bite.

"There, happy?" she grated out, her mouth full.

Julius grimaced. "Please, Ginny, have some decorum."

"Decorum?" she said dangerously, but he was quick.

"Do you really want to let them see this get to you? Let them think they've had any effect on you at all?"

"No." She took another bite of her sandwich, scowling furiously.

Imperturbed, Julius forked a bite of chicken. "Good girl."

"Don't patronize me, Julius."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"That filthy little reporter thinks she can just—"

"What if she's right?" Julius interrupted, taking an empty paper cup from the stack on the table. "Aguamenti," he said calmly, sipping his water while he waited for her to recover.

Ginny actually had to restrain herself from cursing him, an impulse she'd had but rarely since she'd left Hogwarts and learned diplomacy. "She's not," she said very simply.

"Well, then," Julius said, as if that resolved the issue. "Let's work on your case, then. Have you looked at the codes for the Reasonable Accommodation of Mixed Species?"

They spent their lunch hour going over possible strategies for Ginny's opening defense in court next week, and at the end of it, Julius escorted her back to her desk though he was due to speak before the Wizengamot in ten minutes. She sat down at her desk, looked at the extraordinarily dusty books, and performed a Bubble-Head Charm on herself.

"Ginny?"

"Yes, Julius?" she replied, already immersed in law books again and not caring a whit how stupid she looked with a fishbowl of air over her face.

"You seem very lonely."

"Do I?" Merlin, he was being annoying. Did he want her to try his strategy or not?

"I thought you might like to have dinner with me later this week."

She finally looked up, her stomach knotting with tension. He stood there with his proud, handsome face looking vulnerable, and the hand combing through his thick hair might be shaking just a little.

"I'm afraid you thought wrong, Julius. I'm sorry."

He nodded and retreated, and Ginny watched him go with troubled eyes. Separated, sure, but not divorced. Not yet.

* * *

Ginny kicked off her shoes the minute she got through the door, and sighed in relief. She hated shoes. She hadn't used to, but when she'd been pregnant with Sirius, her feet had swollen so badly that she'd stopped wearing them whenever possible. She'd never gotten used to wearing them again. She dropped down into the chair by her fireplace and slowly curled up in it, drawing her legs under her. She hugged a throw pillow to her chest, hoping it would absorb some of the pain out of her. It didn't. The intense, hot pain ripped through her gut. She'd barely managed to hold it in all day, and now in the safety of her home, it became a roaring monster and devoured her from the inside out.

She reached out a shaking hand that would barely clasp her wand to start a fire, then let herself begin sobbing. Her family. How they must need her now. With this article in that wretched magazine, Harry must be miserable. He valued the public's opinion of him so highly—how would he cope with this? Would Sirius find out? What about Matt? Matt had surely been shown the magazine by some classmate, if Harry hadn't informed Matt himself. Would Matt be subjected to stares and whispers in the corridors, wondering if he'd escaped kidnapping and worse only to suffer at the hands of the man who'd adopted him? Most likely. She remembered how wanton the unintentional cruelty of teenagers could be.

She couldn't go back to them. The longer she stayed away, the less they would need her, and Harry would find someone else. Another woman would take her place, would hold her husband when he faced these ordeals and absorb his grief into her own. That was as it should be, no matter how much larger the hole through her middle grew every time the beast escaped. That was as it should be.

Ginny was trying to let go of her family, little by little, but there was one last thing she could do for them, she thought. She could stop this repulsive Carthy woman. She could bring _Wandwork Weekly_ down. As soon as she'd seen today's article, she'd known that she would give this one last gift to Harry. She would expend all her effort to end the ugly attacks on him. But how to do it?

The ugly beast that ate her heart up slowly retreated to its cage as she pondered. The pain subsided to a throbbing as she let her mind make plans. A war, she decided. Harry would never be satisfied with just seeing the magazine gone. He would believe the public still harboured these doubts about him. He would always be afraid that everyone was thinking the worst and simply not expressing it. The thing to do would be to give the opinions of those who supported him a voice. Let them drown out the voices from that _Wandwork_ rag. And the way to do it came to her, and she smiled. The aching went away, and she soothed the vicious beast with thoughts of vengeance. Oh, this would work _brilliantly_.

* * *

The next morning, just before Ginny went into the office, she knelt down in front of her fireplace. She checked to be sure she looked presentable, then wondered why she bothered. Held to the standards at the other end of this firecall, she would look positively sophisticated no matter what mess her hair might be in. She stuck her head in.

"Anyone there?"

"Hello?" said a dreamy voice, and Ginny looked around as much as possible with her head stuck in a fireplace. Ah, there she was, looking up at the ceiling like Ginny's call came from the heavens rather than from the normal location.

"Over here."

"Oh, hello Ginny." She sniffed, and blew her red nose into a tissue. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm wonderful, yourself?"

"I believe I was attacked by a Malodorous Murbler," she replied, waving her tissue as evidence. "One of the symptoms is a swollen and leaky proboscis."

Ginny laughed, her good mood of the night before refreshed. More likely a common cold, but she decided not to rule a Malodorous Murbler out entirely. "Well, I hope you get to feeling better. I'm sorry to call at such a bad time."

"Oh no, this a very good time indeed!" she was assured. "The Murbler's attacks have a most unusual and desirable side effect, you see. You invariably receive good news after the other symptoms present themselves."

Ginny never failed to be delighted by this girl's brain. "How are sales, Luna?"

"Oh, perfectly acceptable," Luna assured her. "_The Quibbler_'s last issue on the truth about the Weird Sisters sold out very quickly."

"How would you like to boost your readership, Editor Lovegood?"

Luna blinked at her seriously. "As we are old friends, you may call me Luna."

Ginny laughed again, trying to be careful not to get ash in her mouth. Anyone else would have recognized it as a little humour and asked what she had in mind. But dear Luna . . . Some things never changed.


	7. Chapter 5: Let the Game Begin

Chapter Five

Let the Game Begin

Bear gripped her broom tight as they waited for the team to be announced. She'd had no trouble getting back on the team, as she'd spent the summer practicing. In fact, the whole team was still together. She shot a glare at Ran Edwards, who glared back. All of them, together again. She sighed.

Bear really didn't have a problem with Ran, herself. But he and Matt had fallen on opposite sides of the conflict over Professor Malfoy, and Bear was Matt's friend more than she was Ran's. She liked Professor Malfoy well enough, she supposed, and she was more than appreciative of his expertise when he'd taught her to fly. But she wouldn't have stood her ground so firmly without Matt's firm opinion. She wasn't close to the Professor in the way Matt was—for he'd spent months allowing the man to soothe his troubled sleep and listen to his worries about his family. It was her friendship with Matt that made her stand in the Professor's defense.

Bear and Ran glowered at each other, and Bear tried to think of ways to harm him that wouldn't get her caught. The door flew open, and weak gray light illuminated the heavy downpour outside. They all kicked off to circle the pitch while a third-year Slytherin named Ichabod Pollack announced their names. Bear hunched her shoulders against the rain, and forced her problems with Ran out of her head. They were a team, until this game was over.

---Break---

Matt was simultaneously trying to watch the game and keep an eye on his little sister. She was in the capable hands of Professor Thumbley, since Dad was refereeing the match, but large crowds scared her sometimes. He didn't know if Professor Thumbley knew that. He honestly didn't know where Crash was, but it didn't bother him. Everyone knew who he belonged to, and they all loved him. He was sitting under a canopy a couple of the older students had conjured up somehow for the entire Gryffindor section, seated beside Trevor and Ferris. They all cheered together when they saw Lana Lewis score on Poppy Lambert.

Hufflepuff's team wasn't bad, Matt thought critically, and Poppy was a good Keeper with lots of experience. But Lana, Pierce, and Madeleine were a quick, fluid unit that thought and moved as one. Charity Pritchard was brand-new to the Hufflepuff team, and while she'd been good enough to replace their previous Chaser Algernon McDougal (who admitted he was glad to have more time to focus on his upcoming NEWTs), she hadn't been fully integrated into their system yet. Charity had been quite a surprise, only a second-year like Matt, and from a really snobby family. She'd been very vocal about her admiration for Professors Potter and Malfoy.

The crowd groaned as one when Sahan Suresh and Kerry Wood collided, both going for the Bludger at the same moment. The rain was falling hard, and they landed on the ground with a muddy splash. Dad rushed over to check for injuries, but they both got up looking fine, and kicked back up into the air within moments. Matt saw Bear circle Kerry for a moment, obviously checking his health for herself, but seemed satisfied, and zoomed off to resume the game. Matt found it hard to scream in approval when Ran blocked a goal by Hestia Waverly. He and Ran hadn't been getting along lately.

When nobody scored for a minute, Matt decided to slip away to check on Charley and Professor Thumbley. He ran with his arms over his head toward the Hufflepuff cheering section, then gave it up as a bad job and let his arms fall. He was going to get wet, either way. He said hello to the professor, gave his (slightly fussy) sister a kiss on the cheek, and then found Headmistress McGonagall coming toward them on the arm of Fayne Forsythe.

"Minerva, how are you?" Thumbley greeted her warmly, and Matt added a polite hello, including Fayne with a nod of his head. Charley was squirming to get away from Thumbley, so Matt set her on the ground and grabbed her hand. There were too many people here for her, but hopefully she'd be okay with him.

"Perfect Quidditch weather, isn't it?" the headmistress said sourly, making a face. Fayne was carrying an umbrella in the hand that wasn't occupied with McGonagall's arm.

"Go inside!" Charley shouted at Matt, her face screwed up and wet now that she was out from under Professor Thumbley's umbrella.

"Is that Miss Charlotte Potter?" Headmistress McGonagall asked in the sweet voice she always used to address Charley.

"Yes," Charley answered.

Matt squeezed her hand. "You _like_ the Headmistress. Say hello."

"Hi, Merny," she said sullenly. Fayne Forsythe nearly choked. Matt bit back a laugh. He'd forgotten Charley's name for the headmistress, whose name she couldn't pronounce and whose heart had a special place for the Potter children.

"And this is Fayne. Say hello to Fayne."

"No!" she said, flinging her sodden red hair out of her face and trying to wrench away from his firm grip on her hand. "Go _inside_, Matty!" she shrieked.

Matt shrugged at Fayne. "Sorry. She usually likes to meet people. I guess she's just grouchy."

Fayne smiled, but his smile was as distant as it always was. Cute young children, it would appear, had no more effect on him than did pretty girls fluttering their lashes or exploding potions hitting him full in the face. Fayne had a reputation—he was matched in his responsible nature only by his remoteness. In other words, Fayne was a stodgy old man well before he had the gray hair to excuse it.

A cheer went up around them. Sadie Greene had just scored on Ran. Matt would have joined in the clapping, like a good sport, but he was a bit preoccupied with trying to keep Charley from running off.

"Oh, Charley," Professor Thumbley cried out, "you're soaked. Come here."

Matt kept hold of her so that the professor could perform a drying charm on her, then said he'd take her back to the Gryffindor stands for the rest of the game. Thumbley was kind enough to dry him off, too, then sent them on their way.

Out of the other's presence, and racing along at Matt's side back to the Gryffindor students, Charley's mood improved. She allowed him to pick her up to keep her from splashing in the mud. He nearly ran over his own little brother, though, who was running around, jumping in puddles and shrieking with laughter. He swerved to avoid Matt, slipped in the mud, and fell on his butt hard. The resultant splash spattered mud all over Matt's legs, but at least Charley was still clean.

"Crash! What are you doing?"

Crash just giggled, picked himself up and started to run again. Matt managed to snag the collar of his shirt without dropping Charley.

"You're not supposed to be by yourself."

"I'm not!" he protested.

Another cheer went up. Matt, distracted, let go of his brother's shirt to see that Pierce had scored. "Yes!" Crash darted away. "No!"

"Don't worry, Matt, I've got an eye on him."

Matt whirled and found Professor Malfoy coming forward, some sort of charm around himself to keep from getting wet. The rain was bouncing off something an inch from his skin. Not for the first time, Matt admired the man's skill with magic.

"You're watching him?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Matt," the professor said with a quick grin. "All I'm really doing is letting him play in the mud."

Matt shrugged. "As long as he's not by himself." He hitched Charley up, whose heaviness was started to get to him. "I'm going to get her out of the rain."

---Break---

Draco said goodbye to Matt and turned to renew his watch on Sirius. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he'd volunteered to watch Sirius when he'd seen Potter taking him along as they headed outside for the game. He doubted Potter would really be effective while looking after the rambunctious boy, and Draco was not eager to see his team lose because Potter missed something while Sirius was causing mayhem.

Still, just _keeping up_ with the child was proving to be more difficult than he'd estimated babysitting him to be. What he'd said to Matt was true—he was basically just tagging along while Sirius played and trying not to lose sight of him. At least the boy hadn't ventured out onto the pitch yet.

He glanced up when cheers broke out yet again to see that Lana had scored another goal. Gryffindor was ahead 70-40, and he clapped and called out as he chased after the dark-haired, mud-drenched little boy he'd put himself in charge of. He was distracted momentarily when he saw Madeleine, her hair brilliantly red-and-gold striped for the game, take possession of the Quaffle and dart around Sadie, only to be struck by the Bludger Sahan had directed her way. Bear swooped by a second too late, but it was all right, Madeleine still held the ball. She tossed it desperately to Pierce, who caught it, passed it to Lana—and it was intercepted by Hestia. She passed it to Charity, who streaked back over the pitch and threw the Quaffle as hard as she could at the left hoop. Ran managed to block it with his shoulder, then dove to catch it as it started to fall. He grabbed it and lobbed it to Pierce, who darted off for the other end of the pitch.

Draco roared with the crowd and clapped wildly. "Yes, Ran!"

Then, guiltily, he whirled around and found his young charge nowhere in sight. He did his best attempt at running in the direction he thought the boy had taken. "Sirius!" He looked behind the Gryffindor stands, but the boy wasn't there. "Sirius!" He ran toward the Slytherin cheering section, where there were plenty of as-yet-untouched mud puddles. "Sirius Potter, what did you promise your father?" he bellowed. In point of fact, the boy had vowed not to lose sight of Draco, and he might be watching Draco right now and laughing his head off. Still, visions of the boy lying with a broken neck after jumping from the stands into a puddle filled his mind, and he tried to get his stupid damn leg to actually run. "Sirius!"

"It's _Crash_!" the boy said indignantly, and Draco sighed in relief to see him being literally levitated forward by Greg Kilburne. He was obviously coming against his will, and even his face was black with mud.

"Looking for something?" Greg asked dryly. "I found this strange thing creating havoc among my students. Reckon we ought to ask Hagrid if he's ever heard of a Mudbeast?"

"I'm Crash!" the boy yelled. "I'm not a Mudbeast!"

"Thanks, Greg," Draco sighed. "Yeah, I think I'll just tie this thing up and take it over to Hagrid's now. If he's not home, it can wait awhile, I'll just leave it there."

"No!" Sirius shouted. "I don't want to go to Hagrid's, I want to watch the game!"

"Oh, is that _you_?" Draco said with exaggerated surprise. "I almost didn't recognize you under all that filth."

Sirius, reassured now that they were teasing, grinned so charmingly that Draco nearly forgot he was upset with the child. "I was playing."

"Yes, I know. Greg, you can let him down."

Greg did, and Draco's stern eye kept him from running off again. He instead turned with offended dignity to watch the Quidditch game.

"Well, Greg, have you heard from your brother? Has he discovered any Mudbeasts yet?"

Greg smiled. "As a matter of fact, he has, in a way. I had a letter from him a few days ago, he says he's in Finland and he got to see a few of the creatures that live in those boiling mud pits they've got up there."

"Lovely."

"I worry about him, you know."

"He'll be fine. After all," Draco rubbed his fingernails clean against his robes with a dramatic flair, "he learned from an excellent teacher how to defend himself."

"I know Jack can take care of himself, but not everyone's the kind and gentle soul you are."

They both had a bit of a laugh over that, and Draco reassured him that Jackson would be fine. He glanced down at Sirius to see, to his surprise, that the boy hadn't moved an inch, enthralled with the game. Suddenly, the air of concentration over the boy melted and morphed into animation, and he started jumping up and down, screaming.

"Yeah, go Roman! _Go_!"

Draco looked up to see Roman Vestrit and Quentin Waverly divebombing the ground and nearly colliding with Robert Lakin, who had his eye on a Bludger. Robert jerked himself out of the way just in time, and the two boys streaked toward the ground in a blur. Draco held his breath. Just feet above the sodden ground, they both pulled up to avoid crashing, and he saw the glittering Snitch just inches from Quentin's hand. It darted down again, and Roman beat Quentin into the slight adjustment. He reached his hand out just as both boys drove their broomsticks into the ground and went sprawling in a tangle of limbs and cries of pain.

Draco started running toward them, having forgotten for a moment that he wasn't supervising Quidditch games this year. But Roman jumped to his feet, his fist clutching the Snitch and screaming in triumph, blood running freely from his nose. Draco slowed and halted, smiling and joining the applause. Then Roman's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Potter ran across the pitch toward the boy. Draco, remembering now that the players weren't his responsibility, stayed put. The other players started landing around them, all calling out in joy and not seeming very concerned about their teammate's welfare. The Hufflepuff players were gathering Quentin up and consoling him, congratulating their opponents with no animosity. It had been a good game.

Draco, happy with the Gryffindor victory, looked over and grinned at Ran, the first player whose eye he caught. Ran's smile fell and he responded with a rude hand gesture. Draco was shocked by that. Since when had they progressed to outright hostility? Then Bear charged toward Ran, and he smiled, his arms slightly open to accept her triumphant embrace.

Bear punched him in the nose. In a voice trembling with anger, she said,

"There are ladies present."


	8. Chapter 6: Trouble On Every Side

Chapter Six

Trouble On Every Side

Harry was attempting to make his younger son eat his dinner without starting a food fight, talking with his mouth full, or any of his other favorite aggravating behaviors during mealtimes. He was distracted by Charlotte somehow managing to get gravy up her nose, and lost track of Sirius while he was coaxing Charley to blow into a handkerchief. Crash took that opportunity to abandon his food (he hated carrots and thought his roast was tainted by their presence on his plate) and run off to play with a miniature broomstick. Harry sighed and let him go, too busy comforting his daughter, because gravy was apparently painful when it entered the nasal passages.

Therefore, when Crash reappeared looking more subdued and reported a head in the fireplace, Harry sighed and cursed under his breath. Charley lost interest in blowing her nose. With that uncanny talent children have of knowing a swear word when they hear one, she started repeating it happily in a chant. When Sirius joined in, it was something of a song, because he chose to howl.

"That's enough," Harry said through gritted teeth, pulling Charley out of her chair and taking her with him to the fireplace so she couldn't lodge anything else in unlikely places. He wasn't expecting a call, and he hoped it was Ginny, or at least Molly, to say she'd like the kids for the day tomorrow. He had essays to grade and had no idea how he was going to get it done on a Saturday, with both kids under his care the whole time.

When he saw his cousin's nervous, round face peering up at him, he was bewildered. Dudley Dursley had never, ever attempted a magical means of communication with him. Harry was actually sort of impressed that he'd manage to connect to this place at all. Then he frowned. A wizard would have had to show him. If Dudley was with a wizard, it meant nothing good.

"Dudley?"

"Harry?"

"You . . . what's going on?"

Dudley's flame-wreathed and anxious face was turned to Charley, but his eyes flicked to Crash as well, who was hiding slightly behind Harry.

"These are your kids? You said you had kids."

Harry automatically pulled his daughter closer to his side, though Dudley was certainly no threat. Harry's memories of a bullying teenager had transformed into a fairly responsible person, whether he liked magic in any way or not. He was a huge man, and as far as Harry knew, an asset to the police force, but he was no danger to the kids.

"This is Charlotte," he said quietly. "And that's Sirius behind me."

"I thought you had three kids?"

Harry was surprised Dudley remembered, but he nodded cautiously. "Matt's the one I adopted. He's in the dormitories with the other students."

"Your godfather's name was Sirius, wasn't it?"

Now Harry was really surprised, for he didn't even recall the conversation in which he'd told Dudley that. "Yes. We—Ginny and I—named him after Sirius Black."

"Do your kids have a godfather?"

Harry frowned. "Yes, their Uncle Charlie, Ginny's brother. Dudley, what is going on? You're avoiding the reason you've called, whatever it is. And who told you how to do this, anyway?"

"I'm . . . I'm in your Ministry building. With your old boss, Shacklebolt."

Harry cursed again, but this time, Sirius and Charley didn't copy him. "What happened?"

"Somebody followed me home from work yesterday. I gave him the slip, and I caught a glance of him. Definitely blond. I think it's Cross."

"So Dan brought you in to tell Kingsley," Harry guessed, "when he checked in on you today."

"Shacklebolt thought you and that brother of his should know."

"Right. I'll let Draco know. He says he's got wards up at the Manor, but maybe . . . well, let me talk to Kingsley."

With a look of relief—well, on your knees with your head thrust into the fireplace was never comfortable, even when you did trust the people standing behind you—Dudley disappeared and Kingsley's face emerged in the flames.

"Evening, Harry."

"Kingsley."

"It's almost a relief that he's shown his face, eh? At least we know where he is now. Might be getting ready to make a move on your cousin."

"Yeah. Thanks for taking care of him, by the way. Are you going to put any Aurors on the Malfoy place?"

"Seems like a good idea. I've detailed Terrence to work with Dan on protecting Dursley, and I'll have Magdalena and Fritz on the Manor. I don't think he'd come to the school, do you?"

Harry laughed. "Not likely. The only reason he'd come here would be to come after Draco, and there's too many people around to try anything. I'm sure Cross learned his lesson about underestimating his brother."

Kingsley made a disgruntled noise, as if he didn't like being reminded of how Cross had gotten involved in the wizarding world to begin with. He agreed that making peace with Draco made sense, politically and perhaps even morally, but there were still a lot of grudges floating around. Draco had killed some of his people.

A thought occurred to Harry. "Can I speak to my cousin again, please?"  
It took a minute before Dudley's face reappeared, and now instead of looking nervous, he looked annoyed. He'd probably been cleaning the ashes out of his hair.

"Have you said anything to your mother?"

"No."

"Good. Listen, Dudley, don't contact her, okay?"

"What? Of course I'm going to contact her! I'm going to get her out of town!"

"No, don't do that."

"Why do you think I became a cop in the first place, Harry? If something started happening again, I was going to be the first to know so I could get her out of harm's way immediately!"

"That's why you did it?" Harry asked, momentarily distracted by this interesting fact. Then he shook his head. "Right, I understand that. But the best way to protect her now is going to be to stay away from her. Aunt Petunia will understand. Cross won't think to harm her if he doesn't know about her. She's still pretty well-hidden, isn't she?"

Life had been hard on his aunt the last few years, Harry reflected. First she and her family had been forced into hiding in case Voldemort came after them. Then they'd stayed in hiding, even after Voldemort's defeat, just to be sure. Then Uncle Vernon had a massive heart attack and died two years ago, and Petunia had relied on Dudley ever since. Being cut off from her only son would be adding to her difficulties, sure, but it just might save her life, as well. Cross was after Dudley because he felt for some reason that Dudley was responsible for the mess of his life. He wouldn't have the chance to extend the blame to Petunia unless Dudley called attention to her existence.

Harry explained this to his cousin as carefully as he could. For all that the years had matured him, it hadn't grown him any new brain cells, and he wasn't used to fighting dirty with wizards. Dudley's belligerence faded, and he agreed to do it Harry's way just so long as Harry promised Cross would be apprehended soon. Harry knew better than to make that promise in so many words, but he danced around it closely enough to make Dudley think he had.

Harry finally ended the call, and stared at the now-empty fireplace, thinking. He had to inform Draco of this development, but he needed to put the kids to bed first. They were unusually quiet and calm, watching the dead fire with him.

"Dad?" Crash said.

"Yes, son?"

"Who was that man?"

"That was my cousin Dudley."

"But Georges and Rose and Maggie and Jean-Luc are the cousins," he objected. "And they're all kids like me."

"I know. Dudley is my cousin, so he's a grownup."  
"Oh." With a shrug, Crash dismissed it, though Harry could tell the previously unknown family member bothered him. "Can I go visit Matt?"

"No. It's bedtime."

The sober aura hanging over Harry seemed to drape itself over the children, too, because they gave him no trouble about getting ready for and getting into bed. He kissed them goodnight, but Sirius stopped him from leaving with a sleepy murmur.

"When's Mummy coming back?"

"Soon, I hope," Harry whispered. "Goodnight. I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad."

* * *

Draco rubbed his temples with his hands, staring into the fire and trying to ignore his headache. It was a difficult thing at best, and the news he'd just received didn't help. The pain was pounding into his skull and nearly blinding him. But he was just going to let it hurt. In fact, he needed to get up and go inform the teachers who hadn't heard yet of what had happened. He should find Harry first, maybe Harry had seen something like this before . . . Merlin, his head. He wasn't going to take anything for it, though. Not a thing. It would just have to hurt.

The knock on his door was like a dagger into his brain, but he pulled himself up and answered it, feeling relieved to have the added incentive to get himself moving. When he saw that it was Potter, he was glad. Now he wouldn't have to expend the energy he needed to ignore his head on looking for him.

"Draco, my cousin's seen Cross," were the first words out of Potter's mouth. Next came, "Merlin, what's wrong with you?"

Draco shrugged irritably. "My head hurts."

Potter's face was sympathetic, but Draco couldn't help noticing that his eyes made a quick sweep of the room—checking, no doubt, for bottles lying about—and Draco paid attention only to the reflected gleam of firelight on the man's glasses to distract himself from his annoyance, which made his head ache even more.

"So my brother's been seen somewhere," Draco prompted.

"Yes. Dudley thinks Cross followed him home from work."

"I see. Making plans to harm him, I assume."

"Most likely. They've put two Aurors to guard Dudley and two at your house."

"No need, the wards are strong. But I suppose he might show up there, good place to grab him," he conceded.

"Just thought you ought to know." Potter looked at him and frowned. "Maybe you should get some sleep."

Draco shook his head. "No, there's something going on. I'm glad you came by, actually, I was about to come looking for you."

Potter raised his eyebrows.

"I just delivered a student to the hospital wing. I found him laying in a corridor alone. It's Quentin Waverly."

Potter's face changed to alarm, but Draco headed off his questions.

"Mr. Waverly should be receiving word right about now, and the Headmistress is already speaking to the last person he was seen with."

"And that is . . .?"

"Faith Forsythe."

Potter barked out a laugh. "Faith? As great as she is on the pitch, she's a bit timid. I can't believe she'd deliberately harm another student."

Draco shrugged. "Sahan Suresh was with him when they passed Faith in the corridor, and Quentin said he wanted to speak to her alone for a moment. Sahan says Quentin's had an interest in her for awhile now, and was probably trying to make his move." He smiled wryly. "And we all know how wrong things can go when love is involved."

"You think he offended her and she . . . well, what _did_ she do?"

"That's why I don't believe it was her, either," Draco said soberly. "I don't think she'd do something like this. We can't wake him up. I was coming to find you to see if you knew what was wrong with him."

"Madam Pomfrey can't do anything?" Potter asked in horror.

"It's a curse she says she's never seen before."

Without even realizing it, they'd both set off for the hospital wing, and Harry was now practically jogging.

"What kind of curse?"

"At first we thought he was just knocked out, but it's not that simple. He wasn't Stunned or anything, not even harmed other than that he's unconscious. We tried what we knew to counter Eternal Sleep, but that hasn't worked. The worst part is, we think he's dreaming or having visions of some kind."

"What?"

"He twitches and groans. If he's seeing something, it's not pleasant."

They reached the hospital wing, and went quickly to the bedside of Quentin Waverly. The chestnut-haired boy lay stiff in the bed, watched over by the helpless Madam Pomfrey, and sometimes his lips twisted in pain or fear. Faith Forsythe, apparently cleared of suspicion, was sobbing helplessly against the mediwitch's arm, clutching her like a lifeline. They looked up and saw him escorting Potter in. Madam Pomfrey looked relieved, Faith terrified.

"He was fine when I left him, I swear on Rowena's name!" she cried.

Draco laid his hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Faith. We believe you."

Her red, wet face looked up into his with hope. "You do? I mean, good." Then her face twisted with sorrow again and she looked down at Quentin, who was now being assessed by Potter. "Oh, Quentin, I'm sorry!"

"It's not your fault," Draco said, squeezing her shoulder.

"But it is!" she wailed, just as McGonagall entered with Dan and Hestia Waverly, who darted forward. "I should have said I'd go out with him! If he'd come with me, this wouldn't have happened! I shouldn't have left him alone!"

Madam Pomfrey took Faith in her arms and tried to shush her while Dan grabbed Quentin's face in surprisingly tender hands, Hestia hovering at his elbow.

"Quentin? Quentin, wake up," he begged. He looked up at the bespectacled man on the other side of the bed. "Harry?"

Potter shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this."

Dan and Hestia both sagged with disappointment. And then there were three people in the room helpless to do anything but cry. Not, Draco thought, that the rest of them were doing much good, either.

* * *

"Can I help you, miss?" a pleasant voice said from behind her.

Rosemary turned around with her charming smile already in place. "Perhaps you can," she purred. "I'm looking for a birthday gift for my nephew. He's ten, and he's a bit of a prankster," she chuckled fondly. She had no nephews, prankster or otherwise, but that didn't matter. She wasn't here to shop. She was here because she'd heard the two owners were both former Gryffindors who'd been to school with Harry and Ginny Potter.

"Well, you've come to the right place, then," the tall black man said with pride.

Rosemary glanced around the packed interior of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes—the new proprietors had kept the name out of respect, and the fascination about the Weasleys had never dimmed—and forced another charming smile.

"I can see that I have, Mr . . ."

"Dean Thomas, miss. Call me Dean."

"Why, you flatter an old woman, Dean," she said. Thirty-two was nowhere near old, but let him think her harmless. "Now, I'm curious. You must have known all the Weasleys while you were in school with them."

Dean's smile looked a bit fixed now, the type of strained look that said he'd been here a few thousand times before. "Yes."

"I was quite fascinated with Ginny, actually. She had such a wonderful set of role models in her older brothers. I've been wondering lately if public opinion of her is quite accurate."

"It's not," Dean said, sounding fierce. "Ginny's a really great person. I know people have over-exaggerated our relationship in school, but we were never that serious." He still sounded like he'd answered this question before.

Rosemary's grin became very genuine, albeit predatory. She had just hit the information jackpot. She played the simpering old maid and started collecting.


	9. Article 2

_The Many Faces of Ginny Potter_

_By Rosemary Carthy_

When I walked into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, intent on finding a birthday gift for my nephew, I had no idea that I was walking into a history lesson about Ginny Potter, neé Weasley. The young and vivacious red-head has a set of devoted admirers that until now have not been known to the public. For what does the public know of Ginny? We know she has considerable magical strength, having held her own during several fights with Death Eaters when she was only a teenager. We know her as the youngest of a proud family with a history of allegiance to the right side of the war. In short, the public knows Ginny as a courageous witch of good family. Walking into the joke shop now owned and managed by friends of the Weasley family Lee Jordan and Dean Thomas, I discovered a side to Ginny that I never dreamed.

Ginny has quite the taste in wizards. She has attached herself throughout her life to talented men with the right connections. Her list of former flames includes a high-level Ministry employee and Dean Thomas himself, co-owner of the store-cum-memorial bearing her maiden name—not counting, of course, her estranged husband and hero, Harry Potter. She is an ambitious witch whose talent for getting men to fall in love with her is not to be underestimated.

It is impossible to state with accuracy how many young men Ginny has shared a relationship with. After learning from Thomas of his history with her (before she dumped him for Harry), I sought to better understand her romantic past. Her time at Hogwarts was marked by secretive trysts, as many former students have confirmed. I tracked down several of her old boyfriends who gave me details about a most interesting witch. Her earliest relationship (let no one say she was not precocious) seems to be a mystery still. Even during her first year at school, she was said to disappear for hours at a time, and to speak sometimes of a boy named Tom whom she refused to identify further. Her later relationships were easier to confirm.

She seems to have dated three Ravenclaw students in quick progression. I was unable to track down the third, but Michael Corner works as an assistant to Minister Scrimgeour, and Terry Boot is an private educator for the finest pureblood families. After that, of course, was Dean Thomas, whom she then left for Harry Potter. It seems they had a breakup when he dropped out of school without completing his education to fight a war, and Ginny found herself free to pursue other male companionship. During that time period, she seems to have been attached to the now-deceased war heroes Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom, perhaps even simultaneously. Harry's triumph over Voldemort led to their relationship picking back up, and they seemed happy for a time. Now, however, Ginny seems to be moving on.

Ginny's current love interest, I found out while visiting the Ministry to implore them once again on the Potter children's behalf, is none other than her colleague in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, Julius Thorndike. Thorndike is a handsome, charismatic man, and his wit and hard work have him rising quickly in the Ministry. I would not be surprised to see Thorndike up for Minister before too much longer. Ginny taste for talented wizards has not changed.

What puzzled this reporter, when trying to understand the many faces Ginny has presented to the many wizards who have fallen under her spell, was what caused her to leave them all behind, particularly such a catch as the husband she has separated from. To answer this question, I went to the most expert source: Healer Warbeck Wackerford was most helpful in analyzing Ginny's mind.

"She lives for a challenge," he explained. "She dates men who are destined to be in exciting, even dangerous circumstances. She is addicted to adrenaline, and cannot handle the everyday life."

With this in mind, why leave the roguish, rule-breaking, and singularly gifted Harry Potter?

"It seems much clearer, with her past relationships in mind, why she would have chosen to leave humdrum existence of a wife and mother, especially since Harry Potter has resigned from his position as an Auror and no longer brings home grand tales."

In short, Healer Wackerford believes Potter's new role as a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry does not fill the craving in Ginny for excitement in her life. I would warn Julius Thorndike to be cautious in his romance with Ginny—she is sure to leave him behind for someone more thrilling should his career pause for more than a few weeks. And my sympathy is now much greater toward her (surely soon-to-be _ex_) husband. The frustrations of being unable to please a wife such as Ginny Potter lead me to believe that his abuse of his children might be a recent development in his life, a response and release to the emotional torment of being left behind just like all the others. I'm sure my readers will join me in saying, our hearts go out to the broken Potter family. Perhaps all Harry and his children need is a faithful woman's touch.


	10. Chapter 7: Love and Other Torture

Chapter Seven

Love and Other Torture

Ginny flung open the door to her flat and threw her arms around her brother. "Oh, Charlie, I'm so glad to see you!" she cried.

"Whoa, easy there, Sis," he groaned. "I've got the time off because I'm injured, remember?"

"Oh, are you all right?" she asked guiltily.

Charlie grinned at his joke with a humour he didn't really feel. "Of course. I just told them I wasn't so I could come and see you. I only got thrown halfway to China by a dragon's tail. No big deal."

She laughed, but fixed him with a stern look. "Tell the truth, Charlie."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "We've got a great Healer up there. I was only teasing you."

"So you're really just here to see me?" she confirmed.

"I'm worried about you, sis," he said.

Her eyes were suddenly swimming with tears, and she caught him in another tight hug. His strong arms crushed her to his chest and she cried with relief. She hadn't realized how scared and lonely she'd been until the safety and love of her brother's embrace. She tried to explain herself, but she couldn't get any words out. She raised her head off his shoulder to look at him, pleading for understand.

"Oh, Ginny," he said gently. "Come on, let's go inside."

But she couldn't stop crying. So Charlie scooped her up and carried her in, ignoring the very small ache in his ribs that remained after the bones had been mended yesterday. His baby sister was hurting much more deeply than he'd suspected. He'd come here sort of angry, wondering what her problem was. Now he wasn't sure if it was all her problem or not. He'd heard about the newspaper article that did all but denounce her as a whoring cheat, and he'd meant to confront her about it the minute he got to her door, but now he was too busy trying to comfort her while she cried.

"Hey, Sis, it's okay," he found himself saying. "I'm here. I'll take care of it."

"You'll take care of it?" she repeated hysterically, the words thick because of her running nose.

He grinned at her. "Just tell me who to feed to the newborns."

She gave him a weak and lifeless smile. He set her down on the chair in her small living space and with a frown restarted her dying fire. It was cold in here. Wasn't she taking care of herself?

"Ginny, I heard about the article."

"I thought you might've," she muttered.

"Just tell me one thing: is it true?"

She looked broken-hearted that he would even ask. But he'd been away all during her school years, and though she'd seemed happy with Harry when he'd been around, they were just kids. He hoped he knew the answer, but with specific names, it was a hard thing. He thought she might dissolve into tears again, but she seemed to have spent them all.

"No, it's not true. Well, it's true that I dated Michael Corner and Dean Thomas before I was with Harry. But Terry, and _Julius_ . . . The rest of it's just lies."

"I was hoping so. If what she's been writing were true, I'd have to go kill Harry for hurting my nephew, and how would that look, murdering our savior?"

She did manage a small smile this time, but it died quickly. "Harry would never hurt the kids. Never. And I would never cheat on him."

"Ginny, how long have you two been apart?"

She looked tiny and waif-like to his eyes, though in reality she was nearly as tall as he was and built to be an athlete. "Six months." The words came out like they were being dragged out painfully.

"But you're not divorced?"

"I . . . I can't . . . I've been waiting for him to find someone else. Until he does, I can't bring myself to do it."

"Did it ever occur to you that he's too honourable to go looking elsewhere while he's still legally married?"

She nodded.

"Well?" he prompted, exasperated. His sister made no sense. Maybe she'd actually gone off the deep end.

"He needs someone else," she whispered. "I just want him to be happy."

Charlie stared at her. Yes, she was actually crazy. "You left him because you thought it would make him _happy_?"

"Yes . . . well, no, not exactly."

He crossed his arms and waited.

"It's really confusing to me, too. I just . . . I knew he wouldn't be happy with me leaving, but he'll be much better off when he's got a woman in his life again."

"And what was so wrong about having _you_ in his life?"

"I'm not enough for him, Charlie," she whispered, and now she did start crying again. "I've never been enough."

"Ginny, listen to yourself. You can't be serious."

"No, Charlie, I am. Harry Potter is the saviour of the wizarding world. He's strong, and brave, and tough, and good and kind and smart and funny . . ." She let herself trail off. "He's everything. A good father, a good friend, all of it. And what am I? I'm just a girl. I never did anything special. He fell in love with me because he was around me so much, and because he loves our family. I was just convenient. I mean, I know I'm pretty, but there's other pretty girls. There's more intelligent girls, and more gifted witches. I was just _there_."

Charlie was speechless with shock. He tried to say something, but he couldn't, so she went on.

"And I've always done my best for him. But I'm not good enough." Her hand trembled as she raised it to her face to wipe away her tears. "The adored and beloved Harry Potter deserves better than me. I'm a horrible wife. I don't give him the support he needs. All we ever did was fight. He didn't really want me, I know he didn't. If he wanted me, he would have talked to me, shared his feelings with me, he would share himself as much as I share with him. But he doesn't. And I won't make him feel tied, stuck, with someone he doesn't want. But he was too noble to end it. He would never do that. So I did it. He deserves to have the freedom to look for someone better. I just want him to be happy, Charlie," she finished with a sigh.

Charlie stood frozen. "Ginny, are you telling me you left him because you _love_ him?"

She nodded miserably. "And the kids. The kids need someone who can take better care of them. All this with Crash . . . none of it would be happening if I was a better mother, if I could keep him safe."

She finally looked up at him to see that his face was as red as his hair and his eyes were blazing with fury.

"Are you _mental_?" he shouted. "Are you completely bat-shit _insane_?"

"Wh-what?" she stammered.

"You think he's going to be happy with someone else? Harry loves you, dammit! You're his wife, he married you, he devoted his entire life to you! You think he only did that because you were a warm body close at hand? Harry _never_ does things halfway, and he _never_ puts so much effort into something he doesn't want. You are _exactly_ what he wants, Ginny. You, and no one else. You are those children's mother, and no other woman can be that, no matter how hard she tries. You and Harry made some really cute kids together, Sis, and I cannot believe that you would think that means nothing to him." He dropped to his knees in front of her chair. "You've been tearing yourself apart for six months and making yourself miserable because you think he'll be better off that way. You're wrong, Ginny. He's just as miserable as you are. So are the kids."

"But I can't do right by them," she cried.

"Yes, you can." He gripped her arms so hard she gasped in pain. "More than that, you are the _only_ one who can. He chose you, Ginny. Out of all the girls throwing themselves at him—beautiful, talented witches—you were the one he wanted. You don't honestly think he doesn't love you."

"I think he loves me because he doesn't know better," she answered, but she looked most dreadfully confused now. How long had she been feeling this way? How long had she been hiding this? And most importantly,

"Why haven't you ever told Harry how you feel?"

"Because he'd tell me I was wrong, that he loves me and wants me more than anything."

"And you can't believe that?"

"I told you, he doesn't know any better. There isn't anyone to compare me to. But there will be, and you'll see, he'll choose the better one."

"The better one being you," he countered, still gripping her arms, though a bit more loosely. "Oh, Ginny, you two have always been so perfect for each other. He's always taken special interest in you, and you in him, even when you were just kids. Don't throw that away. Don't throw away how happy you could be together."

"He didn't even tell me about that letter he wrote for Draco Malfoy until he'd already sent it to the paper. I never saw it until it was printed."

"Ginny, Merlin's sake, he's a man. Men are like that. More than that, Harry's like that. You read that disgusting article in that magazine, you know he's used to being on his own. And he's used to fighting. He spent half his life at war, and that trained him to act as quickly as possible and deal with collateral damage later."

"Our marriage isn't a war," she said stubbornly.

"Oh, so the fights you pick with him about the kids and about Malfoy aren't battles, then?"

She looked stricken. "How do you know about that?"

"Harry calls me to ask my advice once in a while. I'm an expert on how Weasleys think, you see." He winked, trying to lighten her heart just a little bit. He couldn't believe how depressed and tumultuous his baby sister had become.

"I didn't know he was trying so hard."

Charlie shook his head. "He loves you to death, Ginny. Please, please don't let go of that. You have something incredibly special and important, and you should be protecting it at all costs."

Ginny stared at him for a long time, and he wondered what she was seeing. She seemed to be looking right past his face at something inside him, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to get that deep. There were things down in there that he'd kept to himself for a very long time. Well, kind of like Ginny, actually.

She broke the silence eventually. "I overheard Mum asking Dad if he thought you were gay, you know. Last time I was there."

"I see," he said, his face carefully blank.

"I wondered, too. But the way you talk about me and Harry . . . who was she, Charlie?"

"Who was who?" he responded, his heart skipping.

"The girl you loved so much, the one that didn't stay with you."

He let his eyes drop. "Don't ask me that, Ginny."

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Forever."

"Charlie, you're my brother and you're very dear to me. You don't have to keep secrets, even if they're things you don't want our parents to know."

He nodded, and licked his lips, trying to prepare himself for an admission he'd never made before. Then he just said it, while the silence was still fresh and before it could wear on him and make him retreat again. "It's Tonks."

He didn't look up, but he heard her inhale sharply in surprise. "I'd forgotten. You were at school together, weren't you?"

He nodded.

"But she wouldn't go to Romania with you."

He sighed. "She didn't want to be so far from her family."

"Did you love her, Charlie?"

He finally raised his head. "I still do."

Ginny's hand stroked his hair gently. "And now she's married to Remus. Oh, Charlie."

"It's all right, now. It doesn't hurt like it used to. Romania . . . it was just an excuse for her, a way not to hurt me as badly as she could have. I didn't realize until she married Remus that she'd never loved me like I love her, and that was the worst time. It's better, now. But," he looked directly into her eyes, "I've never found anyone else like her. There's no one else on this earth that I could love as much. So I'm alone."

He knew she understood when she closed her eyes. But when she opened them, they were clear and determined.

"I've already set plans in motion to protect what I love. I want to see them through. And Charlie . . . Harry really did hurt me. I'll think about what you've said, but I need some time. I don't want to fight with him for the rest of my life."

He got to his feet with a little groan. His knees were not getting any younger. "No pressure, Ginny, not from me anyway. But I am going to make you dinner. I couldn't see you if you turned sideways."

"No, you just got here," she protested, pushing up out of her chair. "I'll cook, you're my guest."

"And since I'm the guest, you have to indulge me," he said, pushing her back down into the chair firmly. "Put on the radio, I like to listen to music when I cook. Then come and tell me what's been going on around here besides gossip-mongering." He looked in her pantry, then turned to her with his eyebrow raised. "On second thought, let's go out to eat. Then we'll go grocery shopping."

She gave him a sheepish smile.

"Honestly, Sis, you're going to worry me into an early grave," he mumbled as he grabbed her cloak from a hook by the door and dragged her out of the flat squealing protests about her messy hair. He looked down and rolled his eyes. "_Accio _shoes." He pushed her shoes at her and then, grinning mischievously, ruffled her already wild hair. "Now let's hear about these plans of yours."


	11. Chapter 8: Ravenclaw Versus Slytherin

Chapter Eight

Ravenclaw versus Slytherin

The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match ended in a Ravenclaw victory, and the students were milling around in an uproar. Harry had declared the match and nearly had his head taken off by Keeper Barry Knowles rushing over to the rest of his teammates. Harry was not in the best mood, and he'd ignored the excitement, just packing up the balls and delivering them to the equipment shed. Now he was heading back towards the castle. It wasn't raining, but it was cold and misty, and he'd left Charley inside with Bobsey. She'd woken up with an earache. He'd noticed that Headmistress McGonagall hadn't come out for the match, either, and he worried about her health. The woman wasn't getting any younger, and she'd lost the man she'd hoped would take over the school.

Speaking of health, he hoped his son had survived the day with no injuries. Sirius, he was sure, was running around somewhere near the pitch with the Gryffindor students and would follow his brother inside. Harry was exhausted and couldn't be arsed to go looking for him. Matt had promised to make sure Crash ended up in his room, and there was no reason not to trust Matt. Harry was planning to go to the hospital wing and try a few more countercurses on Quentin. Over two weeks, and nothing. He still lay asleep, tormented by something only he could see. Harry was torturing himself to try to find the cure, knowing that Dan was beside himself. Dan came to sit with Quentin whenever he wasn't watching Dudley.

Harry heard a weird noise that sounded like someone in pain around the side of the equipment shed. He frowned, and pulled out his wand. He peered around the corner, wand at the ready, but he didn't need it. He was too late. The body on the ground had already been deserted by whoever had attacked. He rushed forward and dropped to his knees and groaned. Barry Knowles, who'd been bursting with pride in his team's victory only minutes ago. Now he lay on the ground limply, his mouth twisted in a frown. Just like Quentin.

"Hey, Dad, what are you—" Matt's voice stopped dead when he saw the boy in Quidditch robes on the ground. "Oh."

Harry turned to see both of his sons standing there, staring.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Crash asked innocently. "Did he get hurt?"

"Matt, did you see who Barry left with?"

"No. He was hugging Faith, and they were talking to Douglas and Morgan . . . I didn't even know he was gone."

"Matt, you and Crash go tell Professor Milles and Professor Malfoy, okay? I'll be in the hospital wing."

"Okay," he said soberly, grabbed Crash's hand, and darted away. Harry really just wanted Claudette informed as the Head of Barry's house, and hoped Draco would realize that Harry was counting on him to handle everything else and get the right people organized.

---Break---

"Professor!"

Draco was talking to Roman, discussing a few of the moves they'd seen from the Slytherins they could turn to their advantage during their upcoming match. He spun around, instantly on the alert at hearing the title shouted with such panic. He saw the Potter boys running toward him.

"What's wrong?"

"My dad just found Barry Knowles behind the equipment shed," Matt said in a voice tight with fear. "I already found Professor Milles, but he said to get you, too. He took Barry to the hospital wing."

"What happened?" he asked, already on his way with an apologetic farewell nod to Roman.

"I think it's like Quentin, that sleeping curse."

Draco swore under his breath, but Sirius apparently had supersensory abilities, because he immediately started making a song of foul language with Draco's recent addition in a place of prominence.

"Crash, shut up," Matt said firmly.

Draco realized that Harry must have thought the same thing he was thinking: this was now not just an attack, but a series of attacks. "Matt, can you do a couple of other things?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell Professor Thumbley and Kilburne to come, too. Then go to the Headmistress and tell her what's happened. She'll need to contact the Knowles family."

Draco looked around the swarming pitch and spectator stands, and cursed again. Sirius didn't repeat it, this time, seeming to realize that Draco was beyond caring. All these students could be in danger. He looked up to see that Quinn Sheffield, who'd been commentating the match, was still near the amplifier.

"But first, get Quinn to make an announcement. Everyone needs to go to their common rooms and wait there."

"Yes, sir."

Matt took Sirius and ran off. Draco hurried toward the castle, the things left undone spinning in his mind. With great relief, he crossed paths directly with Albert Branson. "Bran!" He waved him over. "Get the prefects organized. I want all the students in their common rooms immediately."

"Sir?"

"Bran, I want everyone inside. Please. Quinn should be making an announcement any second, and the prefects need to handle it. The house Heads are going to be busy for a few minutes."

"Yes, Professor," he said soberly, and ran back toward the pitch.

---Break--

The four Heads of the Hogwarts houses stood grouped around two beds, where two boys lay side-by-side, pale and tortured by nightmares. They looked at each other soberly. Harry had entered his crisis mode, and he was calm now. Things had to be taken care of, and he knew they would look to him, much as he wished they would look elsewhere. He was glad Draco had risen to the challenge so admirably, but he was, after all, the effing Chosen One.

"I think we have to assume this is a student," he said first. "Unless anyone seriously entertains the idea a teacher would do this?"

Four sets of eyes stared back at him.

"Okay, so a student. It's rapidly becoming obvious that Quentin was not a random victim, and we need to assume that there will be others after Barry. I'm sure none of us want to see that happen, so we need to figure out who's doing this as quickly as possible."

He could see that his rational speech was calming the two women down, who had come in crying in shock. Greg was rolling his eyes, but Draco seemed to notice that Harry was helping Dorcas and Claudette, so he gripped his Greg's arm in reproval.

"Now, I see two possibilities about the targets of the attacks. The first is that the person is targeting Quidditch players. This seems a little less likely than the other idea I have."

"Which is?"

Harry breathed deeply before answering, knowing what he was about to set off. "Both boys were last seen with Faith Forsythe."

As he'd expected, Dorcas cried out that she'd never believe it and Claudette started declaiming on her student's most wonderful qualities, in that thick accent that allowed Harry to understand only half of Faith's good points. Greg and Draco stood tight-lipped, both seeming to arrive at Harry's conclusion.

Harry held up his hand to quiet things down. "I never said it was Faith. I agree that Faith isn't that sort of person."

Claudette suddenly seemed to understand. "A boy. A jealous boy who is in love with her."

Harry nodded. "That was my thought. Now, what you need to do is think over the students in your house, try to remember if any of them spend a great deal of time with Faith. Keep your eye on them, see if any boy is watching her too much or acting hostile toward her friends."

He turned to look at the two victims. "We need to find the culprit now." He turned around again. "I can't help these boys," he admitted. "I can't wake them up."

"One other thing," Draco spoke up. "We should not ask help from the prefects. They might know better than us which students are interested in Faith, but . . . an older student did this. This curse took skill and knowledge. It might very well be a prefect."

"Our students don't learn curses like this," Claudette stated firmly. She looked at Greg, and Harry felt his heart sink. "Though I'm sure some of your students learn such things at home."

"No," Harry said. "No. We will not even begin that discussion."

So they didn't, but the damage was already done, and Harry could see it. They'd alienated Greg, and Claudette was acting decidedly cool toward Draco as well. He'd honestly hoped that Slytherin wouldn't get blamed for this, but apparently that was too much to hope for.

---Break---

Everyone left the hospital wing to go to their students and set some guidelines about future conduct, namely that no one would go anywhere alone for any reason. They'd decided it was useless to restrict them to their dormitories in the evenings, not if the attacks were taking place in broad daylight.

Draco stepped into the corridor and saw the Potter boys standing there looking anxious, waiting for their father. He knew Potter wouldn't come out for awhile, intent as he was on trying to figure this curse out. Potter was wearing himself out, looking up complex spells and poisons and trying to find their counters so he could try them on Quentin. Now he had the added motivation of Barry. Draco and Dorcas had both tried, too, thinking of every plant and potion they knew that could do this, but it was a really small number of possibilities, and they'd been exhausted a week ago.

"Your dad's going to be busy for awhile," he told the boys. "Come on," he addressed Matt, "let's take Sirius back to his room and then I need to talk to the students." As much as he was sure Matt wouldn't be in any danger, he didn't want to send the boy off by himself. So he walked with them to the little suite of rooms that Potter shared with his younger children. Charlotte was there with a put-upon house elf, crying because her ear hurt and because she'd been left alone too long. The house elf looked up hopefully when they came in, but its ears drooped when Potter did not appear.

Matt glanced at his younger siblings and sighed. "Go ahead, Professor. I'll stay here with them."

Draco nodded and left without another word. But the idea of those kids sitting in that room alone, waiting for their dad and worrying, stuck with him on the walk back to Gryffindor tower. He suddenly understood why Harry had been so miserable the last few months. There was just something indefinably _not right_ about the whole thing. A part of their family was so obviously missing, and time hadn't closed that hole over. Ginny should be there.

So after Draco addressed the students and warned them about sticking together and keeping an eye out, Draco headed back out of the tower. He was stopped by Bear, whose face was pale and fierce.

"Professor, Matt's missing."

"I know where he is," he assured her. The way she slumped in sudden relief touched him, and he gave her a quick, one-armed hug. "He's with his brother and sister right now, he's fine. I'm going to go check on them." He pushed her gently back toward the other students. "Go on, don't worry. I'm sure you've got studying to do."

"Yes, sir," she muttered.

Draco came back to the Potter rooms to find Matt, looking harassed, trying to pick up Charlotte, who was hiding herself behind an armchair and crying in an exhausted way. Sirius was nowhere in sight. Matt looked up, and sighed when he saw Draco. He'd obviously been hoping for his dad. Charlotte, however, stopped crying and came out of hiding.

"You're Pepesser Malfoy."

"Uh . . . yes."

"Pick me up," she commanded.

Draco shot a please-help-me look at Matt, who raised one eyebrow and grinned. He looked down at Charlotte, who had her hands on her hips and thick red locks of hair hanging in her face, and reminded him alarmingly of her mother. He half-expected her to pull out a wand and hex him. With a sigh, he picked the girl up. She was _heavy_, the spoiled little brat. He sat down in the chair she'd been hiding behind, holding her in his lap. This wasn't so hard. He'd played with Bonnie before. Little girls were no big deal.

Her soft little hand grabbed his eyepatch and lifted it. He froze.

"Ew," she giggled, and pushed it back over his empty eye socket. "Icky." Then her giggles turned into whimpering, and she covered her ear with her fist. "Ow," she said pathetically.

Draco didn't know what one was supposed to do with ear aches, but he'd had one or two when he was younger, and he remembered that heat felt pretty good. He directed a warming charm into her ear, and she relaxed a little. Matt, he realized, had left the room, probably to track down his impossible brother. The house-elf appeared with food for the children, which attracted the two boys back into the front room, but Charlotte didn't want to eat and so Draco stayed in the chair with her.

---Break---

Harry dragged himself down the corridor to his rooms, feeling guilty for leaving Bobsey with the kids so long. He'd thought he had figured out a remedy, but it hadn't really worked. He thought it might have lessened the nightmares they were seeing, and if so the spell was useful, but he was no closer to waking the boys up.

When he entered, he stopped short and blinked. He was so tired that he was hallucinating, that must be it. For otherwise, this scene should not be in front of his eyes. His two sons were sitting on the floor by the fireplace, looking up at none other than Draco Malfoy, who was sitting in the chair with Harry's daughter asleep in his lap and telling them stories . . . about Harry. He was recounting, as far as Harry could tell, the tale of his first task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament twelve years ago.

Draco saw Harry and stopped mid-sentence. He got to his feet, still holding Charley carefully so as not to wake her up. "I didn't want them to be alone," he explained, his face turning a deep shade of red.

"Where is Bobsey?"

Draco obviously didn't have a clue who he meant, but Crash answered for him.

"She brought us dinner, but she didn't want to stay."

"Oh." He looked at Draco, and felt a fleeting impulse to revel in the man's obvious embarrassment. He quelled it. "Thank you, Draco," he said, and decided to leave it at that.

Draco looked surprised, but just answered, "You're welcome, Harry," with a stiff dignity, and handed the sleeping girl in his arms over to him.

She woke up in the transfer, and blinked up at Harry with confusion. "Daddy? You're not Pepesser Malfoy."

"Nope," he agreed with a smile, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "How does your ear feel?"

"Pepesser Malfoy made it better," she murmured, snuggling herself against him and looking as though she meant to fall back asleep.

Now Harry's amusement had vanished, and he honestly didn't know how to react to feelings of true gratitude toward Draco. Last time Draco had taken responsibility for one of his kids, Harry had ended up risking his entire reputation on the man. This incident might not be such a big thing, but he had to wonder at how life had changed so much.

"Thank you," he said again, having no other words that would not come out all wrong.

"Good evening, Harry," the other man said, and exited quickly.

Harry took his place in the chair, holding Charley carefully so she could sleep off her pain and weariness. He wished he could do the same.

"He didn't finish the story," Sirius complained.

"I could finish it, if you like. I happen to know that one," he said, winking at Matt. Matt smiled.

"I like the way he tells it," Sirius pouted, but settled down to hear the rest.

Matt stayed with them that night, and Harry couldn't help but feel glad. On a day like today, nothing would convince him the kids were all right except their presence with him, where he could protect them. They passed the night untroubled. Harry woke up near dawn, startled into wakefulness by Matt yelling something in his sleep. It was only then that he realized Draco had used his first name the night before. He also realized that at some point during the night, Sirius had gotten up and crawled into bed with him. He kissed his son's messy hair and smiled, thinking that maybe the last of the war wounds, festering for so many years, was finally healing.


	12. Article 3

To the Editor—

I sincerely hope you will print my letter in your next issue. _The Quibbler_ has always been a publication of sterling reputation, objective and fair. The new _Wandwork Weekly_ magazine has shown itself to be so biased and condescending, I did not even bother attempting to write to their editor.

The recent set of articles that condemn the Potter family have been in extremely bad taste, as I'm sure readers of _The Quibbler_ will agree. We are proud to subscribe to a magazine that doesn't stoop so low as to make the petty accusations _Wandwork Weekly_ seems addicted to. I refer most of all to the latest atrocity they have printed, accusing Draco Malfoy of being the culprit behind the attacks on two Hogwarts students this month. It is ridiculous to assume such a thing, and I hope that Rosemary Carthy feels sufficiently ashamed of putting her quill to it. Her brief musing that perhaps even Harry Potter himself could be behind it is, if anything, more ludicrous.

Potter and Malfoy lived through a particularly difficult time in our history, as did many of the readers of your magazine, dear editor. They, however, experienced much more of the violence and hardship than most of us could claim. Because of this, I am certain that these two men hold an aversion to causing pain in others. Whatever source Carthy might claim at the school, I submit that it is an unreliable one. To suggest that Potter craves violence is among the most foolish things I've ever heard in my life, and I heard the arguments for becoming a Death Eater! He has only ever worked for the good of our world. I am sure that many of your subscribers feel as I do, and we thank you once more for your impartiality.

Sincerely,

The Harpy

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dear Editor,

Thank you for printing that letter in your last issue! I was glad to see _The Quibbler_ stepping up and allowing Potter and Malfoy to be defended. _Wandwork Weekly_ has crossed the line, and your faithful readers are glad to see you taking a stand.

A Devoted Reader

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Dear Editor,

Please allow me to take this opportunity to address The Harpy. I only wanted to say: Thank you for speaking your mind! There are so many in agreement with you. Thanks to you and _The Quibbler_, we feel there is a place for us to express our approval of Hogwarts.

Sincerely,

Your Ally

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Dear Editor—

The Harpy said it all! Brilliant!

Potter's Biggest Fan

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Dear Editor,

I was pleased to come across the support offered by The Harpy in your last issue. I have felt recently that I could not speak in defense of the school or its professors, for fear of being ridiculed by my friends, and I was very glad to see that there is still a place to do so. _The Quibbler_ has gained a faithful new subscriber, and I hope that you will retain the standards that drew me to your magazine. The young professors at Hogwarts deserve every opportunity to show us what they are capable of, and I hope you will undertake to report what _Wandwork Weekly_ won't.

Hopefully,

Rhea Silvia


	13. Chapter 9: Letters, Good and Otherwise

_Yes, more than one chapter in the same day . . . I've gotten quite a bit ahead in the writing, so I can afford to. Enjoy your double helping!_

_Cheers, Faren_

Chapter Nine

Letters, Good and Otherwise

Draco read through the entire letter a second time, wondering and worrying about its contents. He had received a variety of fan mail and death threats last summer, but he usually tossed them out without even opening them. There hadn't been any Howlers since his identity has first been revealed six months ago. But this letter . . . well, how was he to ignore it? There was no overt threat, but he was chilled by it nonetheless.

It was from Max Cross, who signed his name "Malfoy" now but had no right to do so. The entire purpose of the letter seemed to be to remind Draco that his half-brother was still alive, as if he didn't know that. But he'd mentioned his "tutor" again. Someone was teaching Cross magic. That could not possibly be a good thing.

Draco got up and went to find Harry. The Aurors were really the ones he should take it to, but he was not entirely comfortable with them yet. He still felt like they would arrest him on sight. Hogwarts was, in a way, a shelter from the rest of the world; as comfortable as Draco usually was here, he knew the rest of the world wasn't quite as safe for him. So he'd take the letter to Harry, and let him make of it what he would. He'd leave the letter with him if Shacklebolt wanted to see it.

Harry was likely grading essays while keeping an eye on his kids, so Draco went to the small set of rooms he'd dubbed "the Potter Suite." He was still taking every opportunity to rejoice over the freedom of walking without a cane. Madam Pomfrey was quite an extraordinary witch, despite her inability to help the two boys sleeping in her care. He could already picture the cozy scene that waited ahead of him—Harry at his desk, bouncing Charlotte on his knee and tickling her while he worked, and Sirius playing with some toy behind him. It woke a strange ache in Draco to think of it, especially when he was alone in his room at night. There would never be anything like that for him.

Harry answered his knock on the door with Charlotte in his arms and his legs spread wide to prevent Sirius from escaping out into the corridor.

"Pepesser Malfoy!" Charlotte said happily.

Sirius tried to slip under Harry's legs and escape anyway, but Draco grabbed him by one arm and hauled him upright, pushing him inside as Harry stepped back to admit them.

"Thanks," he said. "What's going on?"

"This," Draco sighed, holding up the letter.

"Pepesser Malfoy!" Charlotte said insistently, reaching out toward him.

"What is it?"

"It's a letter from Cross."

"Damn. Well, sit down, let's see it."

"Pepesser _Malfoy_!" Charlotte nearly shrieked, straining forward and probably doing her father real damage with her elbows.

Draco sighed in defeat and took the girl from Harry, giving her a kiss on the cheek and saying hello. Mollified, she squirmed to be let down.

"You can't make up your mind, can you?" he said as he set her on the ground and she ran into the other room without another word. He straightened up and saw Harry watching him a weird, amused expression. "Don't even start, Potter," he muttered darkly.

"What happened to Harry?"

"I regained my sanity," he returned. He kind of wished exchanging insults had been this fun when they'd been twelve. At the time, it had seemed very important not to like Harry. He was having a difficult time remembering why, lately. Well, his father had been dead for eight years, after all.

They sat down, and Draco handed him the letter so he could read it. While Harry was reading, Sirius approached him.

"Can I hear another story, Draco?"

"Sirius, that's not polite," Harry murmured without raising his eyes from the parchment. "Call him Mr. Malfoy."

"_You_ call him Draco," the boy protested with a scowl. Draco would love to tell Harry exactly how much his son resembled him right now, but his policy was to not start any real fights.

"It's okay, Sirius, you can call me Draco."

"I'm Crash, Mr. _Malfoy_."

"Oh, right, Crash, I forgot. Sorry."

"That's okay, Draco," he said with a charming grin, and apparently forgot all about the story, because he ran off after his little sister.

Harry looked up from the letter. "Well, he's not very complimentary, is he?"

Draco had to smile. "He's just angry that he can't get into the Manor."

"Still, there was a time when I would have agreed about you being an arrogant minger and all that," he grinned.

"Well, anyway, do you know what he wants, because I don't."

"I think he's just trying to annoy you, mostly, but . . . He's warning you. And whoever you show this to; he probably assumes the Aurors will read it. He's telling us that he's actually learning magic, for one thing. And that someone is crazy enough to teach it to him, so there's a second person to be worried about. He might be planning something. He doesn't mention my cousin, maybe he's given up on him."

A weird squeaking noise emanated from the bedroom the kids had gone into. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Jumping on the bed?" Draco guessed.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Might as let them, at least they're not in here getting into your hair."

Then there was a loud thump, and silence. Charlotte came out with wide eyes.

"Daddy."

Harry rolled his eyes again. "Is Sirius bleeding?"

"No," she said in a tiny voice.

A whimpering noise sounded from the other room. "Dad? _Dad_?!"

Harry ran in, and Draco followed curiously. Sirius was laying on the floor, clutching his arm to his chest, his face very white. Charlotte grabbed onto Draco's leg for comfort, staring at Sirius as Harry knelt beside him.

"Did you fall off the bed?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you break your arm?"

"I think so."

"Let's see," Harry said quietly, calmly, and Sirius let him look at it. He shrieked when the arm was stretched out. "Shh, it's all right, I'm going to fix it." Harry drew his wand from his pocket and then, just like that, the arm was fine.

"Thanks, Dad," Sirius said in a somber, grateful tone that sounded strange coming from a six-year-old. "I'm going to get ready for bed now."

"Good idea," Harry said cheerfully, and ruffled his hair. "Help Charley, okay?"

"You're not mad at me?"

Harry sighed. "Maybe a little. I wish you were more careful. Mostly I just get worried about you, Crash. I don't want you to get hurt. Okay?"

The dark-haired, bespectacled pair got up, and Harry sent the kids off to brush their teeth and put on their pajamas, taking Draco back out to the living room.

"What was that about?"

Harry knew what he meant. "I told him to be really careful. If he keeps getting hurt, he might have to be taken away from me."

Draco cleared his throat. "So that magazine is still at it?"

"Yeah."

Then Harry brightened. "I meant to show you something." He grabbed something off his desk. "Take a look at this."

"At _The Quibbler_?" Draco laughed. The cover told him that the main article was on the health benefits of sleeping upright (the picture showed a man strapped to an elevated bed, apparently snoring comfortably) so he assumed it was printing its usual foolishness.

"Just at the section that has letters to the editor."

Draco did, and frowned. "What are they all talking about? What harpy?"

"Oh, right." Harry grabbed another issue, this one promising to reveal Rufus Scrimgeour's blackmail of the Chief Mugwump (that one might even be true), and Draco flipped to find the letters to the editor. He read The Harpy's letter.

"Wow. Looks like you've got quite a few fans, still."

"You've got a few yourself."

"Interesting." He noticed that Harry had a look of real excitement on his face. "You know who the Harpy is?"

"I think so."

"Well?"

"Luna's never had a section for letters to the editor before. It's not really her style. Somebody talked her into it."

"Okay."

"It's Ginny."

Draco read through the letter again. "She's amazingly more coherent than I remember her. And since when was she on my side?"

"That seems to be a recent development," he admitted. "But I'm convinced it's her. The nickname is how she's letting me know it's her."

"And why would that give it away?"

"I might have possibly accused her of being one," he mumbled, looking away.

Draco set the magazines down on his lap. "Well, I'm fascinated. I might even take out a subscription to this thing. However, my brother concerns me more at present."

"Right. I'll get it to Kingsley tomorrow, see if he can make anything of it. We're already looking for him, you know. This isn't going to make it any easier or harder."

"They," Draco said.

"What?"

"You keep saying, 'we.' You're not an Auror anymore, Harry," he said, not without sympathy. Still, it had been his decision to quit his previous job and come here.

"Right. Them. Anyway, let's think this over. Can you think of anyplace he might be staying?"

He and Harry started brainstorming, using the very insignificant amount of information at their disposal. But Draco's eyes kept falling back to the magazine in his lap. Out of all the anonymous people, one woman signed her name. _Rhea Silvia_. She wasn't afraid of ridicule, despite her unusual name. Who was she?


	14. Chapter 10: The Other Letter

Chapter Ten

The Other Letter

Unbeknownst to either party, Max Cross and Matt Potter were writing their letters on the same night. Matt Potter, however, didn't send his for a few days. He spent those few days wavering back and forth about whether or not he ought to send it. Finally, he took it up to the Owlery and selected a nice, sturdy barn owl who could survive the inclement weather on the trip to London. He tied the letter to its leg, and wished it a safe flight as it flapped its wings and disappeared.

He went back down to the Great Hall for dinner, holding onto his scarf tightly as the wind threatened to snatch it away. It was getting so cold this year, and he didn't envy the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, out here practicing. With Barry Knowles not playing for the conceivable future, they'd had to replace him, and Creyton just wasn't as good, let alone familiar with the team's dynamics. The Hufflepuff team had already given up on the season. Without their Seeker, they were pretty much doomed. Nobody could fill Quentin's shoes. They'd put Algie McDougal back in as Chaser and had Charity Pritchard playing Seeker, but it wasn't the same at all. Matt fretted about his own house's team, then felt guilty. What was he like, thinking of the team before the students? Nobody understood what was happening, any of them could be next, and there Barry and Quentin lay in the hospital without much hope. The truth was, Matt had spent so much time worrying about it that worrying only about Quidditch was a relief.

He joined Bear at the table, and Basil came over to sit with them. Matt was absentminded, going over some notes with Basil, and reaching for his plate without looking. He ate through what was on his plate without realizing it, and reached out just as Bear was placing a buttered dinner roll on it. He looked up and didn't know how many rolls he'd eaten. He scowled at her.

"What? You haven't been eating enough," she scolded. "You act just like your dad, I swear."

Basil rolled his eyes sympathetically, but seemed to be in agreement with her, because he picked up his own half-eaten roll and munched on it with his attention on the notes they were studying. Matt sighed dramatically and accepted more food. He honestly didn't remember if he'd eaten breakfast, and he was still hungry. Bear had no right to be watching him like that, he thought to himself resentfully. But his eyes went to the staff table. Dad was sitting there with Professors Malfoy and Kilburne, and they were all three mumbling to themselves a lot and pushing food around their plates without eating it. They were probably talking about Quentin and Barry again. They did that a lot, even though they never got anywhere with it.

"Where did you go, Matt?"

"Huh?"

He and Bear were walking back to the Gryffindor common room, even though he didn't remember saying goodbye to Basil or anything. He did feel full, though, so Bear must have kept feeding him. He was alarmed. He was having a hard time paying attention to himself lately, and it was dangerous for any wizard to walk around in such a state. Especially since he'd discovered last term, during his kidnapping, how powerful a wizard he might be.

Bear rolled her eyes. "Before dinner. After classes. Where were you?"

"Sending a letter," he said without thinking.

"Oh. To who?"

Matt forced himself not to snap at her. He simply ignored the question.

"Matt, what's going on? You've been acting really weird lately."

He looked at Bear, really looked at her, and saw that she was worried and sad. Had he really been behaving so strangely? How long had he been acting so absentminded? "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"You've been so quiet, and you always want to be alone. You study so hard, and you're doing really well in your classes, but . . . it's like it doesn't really matter to you. Like nothing really matters right now. Sometimes it's like you're not really there."

Matt sighed. "It feels like that, a little."

There was obvious concern in her eyes, but she returned to her question. "Who were you writing to, then?"

"My— my mum."

There were tears in his eyes, and he cursed himself for letting Bear see it. He hated to cry, especially in front of people, especially in front of his friends. But Bear didn't seem bothered by it, not at all.

"What did you say?"

"I told her that we miss her. All of us, me and Charley and Crash . . . and Dad. My dad is so sad, Bear, I don't know what to do. He needs Mum back." Then he was crying, really crying, and Bear was holding him, an she was as tall as he was, and his head was on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he muttered, trying to control himself.

"No, it's okay, we're alone."

Bear had directed them into a deserted corridor on purpose, while Matt was gazing off into space and just following her without thinking. Matt's tears were renewed by realizing how much she cared about him and how thoughtful she could be when she needed to. He hated this, hated the way things were . . . What was _wrong_ with him?

"Bear?" he asked, his voice muffled in her shoulder.

"What?" she replied, her voice right by his ear.

"What would you do if your mother left? If she made your father so sad?"

"I'd go find her and drag her back," she said, almost cheerfully. "But since your mother isn't really the type to go quietly, that's out of the question. Sending a letter sounds about right. What else did you say?"

"I just asked her to come home."

His tears started to dry up on their own after a minute, and Bear's arms were around him the whole time. She didn't much care if anyone saw. Matt was her friend, and if this was what she could do for him, then she would.

"Bear?"

"What?"

"You won't tell Basil or Milt about this, will you?"

She finally pushed him away from her, and looked at his reddened face with disgust. "Boys," she sighed, and started walking toward their common room again.

"Bear? You won't, right?"

"You're so pathetic."

"Bear!"

"Oh, fine, I promise."

---Break---

Ginny's hands trembled while she read the short letter. The owl had arrived soaking wet and tired, having flown through a remarkable downpour to reach her, and it huddled on her grate, ruffling its feathers to dry them. She wished Charlie had stayed longer, now. She wished her brother were here to hold her. A few days of good meals and constant love and friendship had made a world of difference to her, but she could feel the happiness she'd gained draining back out of her.

_Oh, Matt . . ._

He had to be exaggerating. Had Harry put him up to this? Harry couldn't possibly be that miserable and lonely, or there'd be an article in _Wandwork_ about it; Ginny suspected Rosemary had somehow gotten information from inside the school. And Crash and Charley were doing fine without her, or Harry would have said something to her about them. Last time he'd come to pick them up from their grandparents, he'd said they'd adjusted. Said Charley loved playing with a couple of girls at Hogwarts and that Crash loved to visit Matt in his dormitory. They were supposed to be happy without her.

But Matt's letter said they weren't. Matt's letter said they were all depressed, and that they missed Grimmauld Place and having her with them. Ginny set the letter down very carefully, like she might break it if she didn't treat it with caution. If Harry had told Matt to write this, thinking that Matt would have an easier time softening her up than he would . . . well, that was just more of the same, wasn't it? Still he wouldn't communicate with her. She was waiting, waiting every day for _Harry_ to say it. For Harry to tell her that they missed her and wanted her back. He hadn't said that to her once since they'd moved to Hogwarts. He said they were doing fine. So i must be that things were working out the way she'd intended them to. Of course, Charlie thought her intentions were totally and completely wrong, but if things were playing out that way. . .

She curled up in her chair, and picked up her copy of _The Quibbler_. That, at least, chased the doubts away. It was working. It was working so well. The sane people out there, the rational ones, were voicing their opinions. She could salvage Harry's reputation for him. He wouldn't have to feel alone and outnumbered again, like he used to. He would know they stood behind him.

She looked at the scribbled-on piece of parchment sitting on the table. She'd written several drafts of The Harpy's second letter to Luna. Did Harry know, as she hoped he did? There were miles apart, in more ways than one, and maybe they'd never be able to bridge that distance, but here at least was her effort to say that he was still a good man, an admirable man. Did he realize that she was standing behind him, too?


	15. Chapter 11: Office Intrigue

Chapter Eleven

Office Intrigue

Rosemary polished her nameplate with her blouse and set it back on her desk with a little sigh of satisfaction. Her work for _Wandwork Weekly_ had brought the unknown little upstart publication to star status in matter of weeks. Tabitha, who reported on more serious wizarding issues, and Lola, who did their opinion pieces, both thought her writing was a bit of a joke. Geoffrey, who did sports, arts, and culture, thought it was brilliant. He was hoping that enough people were reading the magazine that he could get hired on somewhere else soon. Rosemary would have told him, if he'd asked, that he'd get hired on a lot sooner if he'd shave off his ridiculous goatee. He persisted in growing it, however—all the better to tickle Tabitha with when they were supposed to be working.

All in all, Rosemary was well-assured of her status in this office. Without her, the magazine would disappear. Her articles were what the magical community was reading. Rita, at least, understood the importance of a little sensationalism. Of course Rita wasn't the one putting her name to anything. Her editorship was the best-kept secret in the wizarding world . . . well, right after the secret of the owner's identity. Even Rita didn't know that. Apparently, this was not as unusual as it might seem to a woman like Rosemary who'd grown up among Muggles. Identity was a sort of fluid thing when you took into account Polyjuice Potion, Disillusionment Charms, and the like.

Rosemary got up and walked over to the fire, admiring the gleam of the flames on her brand-new dragonhide boots with spiky heels. She poked at the embers and added a new log. Geoffrey was out attending a Quidditch game, Tabitha was at a Ministry hearing she wanted to report on, and Lola was gone for the day. She was supposed to keep the fire going in case any of them called in with anything important before Rita left for the day. Rita had spent the entire day hidden in her little partitioned closet, as she had done for the better part of two weeks. Occasionally they heard her mumbling to herself, even arguing with herself, and stamping her foot in either frustration or joy as she directed her quill to scratch something out.

Rosemary heard Rita muttering, and she crept closer to the door marked _Editor_, hoping to hear something interesting. The door burst open and Rita strode out. Rosemary drew herself fully upright, caught as she was directly in front of the door, and lied through her expensively straight white teeth.

"Ms. Skeeter, I was coming to tell you that I was leaving for the day," she said with a calm expression.

"Oh, Rosemary, I've told you, it's Rita," the other woman said, smiling a predator's toothy smile. Her lipstick was rather orange today, which Rosemary supposed was to match the cat-fur design on her jacket. "Did you finish that piece on the second Hogwarts victim?"

"Not yet, Rita," she said, smiling back with just as much deceit in her expression, "but I'll be speaking to my contact there tomorrow morning."

"Lovely," Rita said, dismissing the whole thing that simply. "I wanted a word with you before you left."

"Of course."

"I need the names of your contacts for that article on Ginny Potter's relationships."

"What for?"

"Oh, dear, Rosemary, it's just something I'm working on. A biography, you know. I'm having trouble tracking down a bit of information I need for the fifth chapter, and I thought the people you spoke to might have it."

Rosemary smiled. "A biography on Ginny Potter?"

Rita did not smile this time. "No, why would I waste my time on that slut? It's about her husband."

"You're writing a biography of Harry Potter?" Rosemary blurted out.

"Of course." Now the smile returned, and Rosemary decided this simpering and grinning like idiots was getting old. "My fifth chapter is on his girlfriends, you see."

"Oh. Well, I did get some information on him as well, when I went boy-toy hunting," Rosemary said. Her calculating eye didn't miss Rita's interested expression, though her employer smoothed her face out quickly.

"Did you indeed?"

"I was saving it for a future article, but I wouldn't mind sharing it with you for your book."

Rita's eyes gleamed with avarice and humour. "And at such a small price, I'm sure. What do you want, Rosemary?"

"To be listed as co-author."

Rita's eyes still gleamed, but the humour was gone. Now she looked downright frightening. Not that Rosemary was cowed by it, no indeed. Really, she and Rita were kindred spirits, and it was impossible to be afraid of your own kind.

"Impossible," Rita said, turning back to her office. "I shall just have to go hunting on my own."

"You've been hunting," Rosemary said to the retreating back, which froze. Really, that cat-fur jacket was _ghastly_ . . . "And you didn't find anything. Honestly, Rita, I know better than to think you'd come to me if you had another option."

"What makes you so sure?" Rita said in a soft, dangerous voice.

"The fact that everyone knows who you are. They don't know me on sight yet, which is how I can continue to collect all the juicy rumours. People see you coming and run the other way, Rita. I know how many reputations you've already ruined."

Rita turned around, and her tight curls were quivering around her face as she trembled with unexpressed rage. Her jeweled glasses were pushed up into her blond hair, and she carefully slipped them back down in front of her eyes and studied Rosemary's face. Rosemary suddenly did feel a little fear. She wasn't sure of what an angry Rita was truly capable of. And Rosemary had all but told her that she was washed-up and useless now. She may have gone too far.

"I will get the information I'm looking for, Rosemary, you can be sure of that. What you oughtn't be too sure of is your continued employment at _Wandwork Weekly_. I'm afraid that your latest few articles have been rather . . . dull."

There were no other publications like _Wandwork_ in the magical world, not here. Rosemary, who'd always been sure of being snapped up by some other gossip rag the minute she left her old one, suddenly realized that the _Daily Prophet_ was not likely to welcome her with open arms, as chummy as it was with the Ministry. If she lost her place here . . . her career might well be over.

"Well, Rita, I'm sure you'll like what I've got planned for next week, then," she said with too much energy. "It should be very exciting."

"Good."

"As for your biography . . . I'd be happy to give you my notes, if you'll promise to mention me in your introduction."

"Oh, that sounds fine," Rita said, and her toothy smile was back in place. "You know, I think I know what I'm going to call it. You see, from what I understand, Harry Potter was little more than a figurehead, and all the real work was handled by his friends. In fact, he was so often in the way that they usually left him at home when they were busy trying to defeat the Dark Lord. Tentative title is _Harry Potter: Savior, Screwup, or Sidekick?_ What do you think?"

"Sounds very . . . compelling."

Rita took Rosemary's arm and walked her back to her desk, stealing Tabitha's desk chair to sit down. "Now, let's talk about what you've got here."

Only moments into their gleefully devious chat about Harry Potter's real importance, the fire sputtered, and Geoffrey's head appeared.

"Ah, good, Rosemary, you're still here."

"Evening, Geoffrey."

"Oh, hello, Ms. Skeeter."

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the dismal defeat of the Chudley Cannons?"

"Oh, ah, they won, actually. Should make for a great bit of news for the sports fans. No, I just wanted to ask Rosemary to come with me tonight. The Weird Sisters have a new opening band that I think will be all the rage with the younger crowd, so I have to check it out."

"Why don't you take Tabitha?"

"Oh, Tabby's still at that hearing. Those dried-up old stooges will be at it all night, I should think. They're arguing about half-breed rights again. I thought we'd got it all settled when discrimination against werewolves was prohibited, but here we go again with half-giants . . . Anyway, Rosemary, come with me. I can't be seen at an event _alone_, can I?"

And of course, there were gray silk sheets to explore, Rosemary thought to herself. With "Tabby" tied up all night, she shouldn't wonder if that's what he really had in mind. But, really, there was no reason not to. Geoffrey was an attractive man, even with all those whiskers, and if _he_ didn't mind a little office intrigue, then she certainly didn't.

"Well, why not?" she said with a coy smile. That pleased him. And she honestly didn't care if Rita knew about it or not—Rita knew how valuable peace in the office was. However, she wasn't about to leave all her notes in the woman's sticky fingers. She gathered them up. "I'll just organize these a bit and bring them back tomorrow, shall I?" she said cheerfully.

Rita answered just as cheerfully back, but Rosemary was paying attention to Geoffrey, not her. It didn't matter what she said, anyway, it was likely to be a complete falsehood by the tone of her voice.

"I'll just pick you up at your place in an hour, then?"

"Sounds perfect," Rosemary agreed. Just enough time to catch a cab home and change clothes. She sighed. What she wouldn't give for a little more magical ability. She'd love to just step in the fireplace and be whisked home.

"Nice boots, by the way."

She grinned. Maybe she wouldn't change clothes, then. "Cheers."


	16. Article 4

_The_ _Quibbler_'s Quality Control

To the thinking magical community—

I feel I must write to express my opinion after reading the latest article from _Wandwork Weekly_. Their editor is still refusing to print any unfavourable opinions, and I again wish to thank Editor Lovegood for providing this outlet for her readers. The _Quality Control_ section has been a great source to many of us who still support Hogwarts and its staff.

Carthy's latest piece states as fact that Draco Malfoy is the perpetrator of the two attacks made on students at the school. My first response is ridicule, for if the facts are so obvious, why is he not already in Azkaban? My second response is disgust for the accusation she makes—that he learned this spell from former Death Eaters who still cling to the precepts of their old master. The idea that Malfoy is still in contact with these people is entirely foolish. After the events surrounding the kidnapping of Matthias Potter, it is abundantly clear that Malfoy is no longer welcome among such people. Or has Carthy forgotten (as it seems so many have) that Malfoy revoked his allegiance to Voldemort while still in his teens? I assure you that those Death Eaters who remain in hiding have not forgotten his efforts to defeat their master. Carthy fails to explain which of these despicable characters has forgiven Malfoy for switching sides in order to help him invent this Nightmare Curse, as they call it—or why.

Draco Malfoy is among the wizards most deserving the support of the magical community. For well over a year, his entire goal has been the education and even protection of our children. He has never failed in his responsibilities at Hogwarts—in fact, he has repeatedly gone above and beyond his duties there. If we have been paying any attention to the events at the school there, we should know by now where his loyalties are and how hard he has worked to ensure our children are safe as well as educated and equipped for their future. It is easy to remember the regrets in his past and forget his more heroic actions, but I for one refuse to do so.

Carthy's repeated efforts to paint the headmistress of the school as somehow unstable or feeble-minded are just as ludicrous. Headmistress McGonagall is obviously as sharp as ever, or she would not continue to stand in the face of so much hatred to defend one of her most valuable professors. Now she is forced to defend even Harry Potter, whose sterling reputation has never before been called into question, and whose exhaustive efforts on behalf of Quentin Waverly and Barry Knowles are well-known. I applaud the headmistress for defending these two professors, and I hope she knows that many parents are glad to see such a steadfast guardian over their children.

In conclusion, I simply would like to sum up my opinion briefly. Draco Malfoy may be the best thing that has happened to Hogwarts in years, and it would be a tragic thing indeed to see him go. I continue to hope that these personal attacks end, and that Malfoy and Potter take solace in knowing the readers of _The Quibbler_ are on their side. I also continue to hope that my fellow witches and wizards will join me in boycotting _Wandwork Weekly_ and their disrespect. Let us show them by our example that we will not tolerate or support this sort of rumour-mongering.

Rebelliously,

Rhea Silvia


	17. Chapter 12: Fighting Back

Chapter Twelve

Fighting Back

Rosemary chuckled, low in her throat, at Geoffrey's comment. He, his head bent over her hands as he held them, chuckled with her. He looked up at her eyes, and she felt some pride. Geoffrey wasn't a bad wizard, really, and a decent writer as well. Once _Wandwork Weekly_ had a real reputation established, he'd have a lot of stability. She might even be able to convince him to shave off his ridiculous tawny-gold goatee that she was actually growing rather fond of. She could do much worse.

Of course, she wasn't _sure_ she was ready to settle down yet. But still, it was nice to know that if she kept reading the "how-to-lure-your-man" hints in women's magazines, she could probably keep him interested until she was ready. She slid her fingers around in his hands, letting him tighten his hold on them. His look became almost proprietary. It would be too rich if he thought he was the one keeping her around.

The best thing about him, Rosemary reflected as Tabitha burst in with a whirl of green flame, was his composure.

"Hello, Tabby," Geoffrey said lazily, drawing back his hands with no hurry. He rose from the chair he'd pulled over to Rosemary's desk. "Look at Rosemary's manicure, it's gorgeous. She was just showing me."

Rosemary hadn't gotten her nails done in a week, but when Tabitha, her eyes narrowed only slightly by suspicion, bent over Rosemary's hands, it was the best French manicure she'd ever seen.

"Very nice, Rosemary," Tabitha said half-genuinely, half-dutifully. "Where did you go? You can't get this from the salon in Diagon Alley."

"Oh, I had a friend of mine do it privately," Rosemary replied.

Geoffrey winked at her from behind Tabitha's back. He had stepped up behind her, and he now wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his face into her neck.

"What are you doing here, babe? I thought you were taking the day off?"

Tabitha shook her head, her lips pressed tight. "Rita asked me to come in. She should be here any—"

Green flames swirled, and Rita stepped out.

"Second," Tabitha finished with a surprised breath.

Rita's always tightly marshaled hair was a bit disheveled, like she'd only taken half the time she normally allotted to curl it. She wasn't wearing any lipstick.

"Everybody sit down," she said like a general.

They didn't argue. They sat.

"Where's Lola?"

The fireplace swirled once more.

"Sit down, you're late," Rita said in a nasty voice. They were all stunned by her tone. Even when she was upset, she was usually all syrupy, with the kind of sweetness that chilled you because you knew she was plotting revenge. Had she truly lost her composure?

"Sorry, Rita," Lola mumbled, but Rita wasn't listening.

"You've all seen the new _Quality Control_ section in _The Quibbler_?"

They all nodded. Of course they'd seen it. Had to know their competition, didn't they?

"I said when it started, Editor Lovegood was going to far. Didn't I?"

Rosemary, the only one privy to that conversation, nodded encouragingly. She smiled, wanting Rita to feel appeased. Her neglected hair and makeup were much more frightening than her gleaming teeth and devious mind.

"Well, now she's allowing her readers to use the space to organize a boycott. A _boycott_. On _our_ magazine. They're encouraging the public to stop buying us."

"Oh, please," Tabitha said. "Who's going to listen? Look how popular we're becoming."

"Tabitha, as usual, you are a complete dunce and unaware of even the most minor facts."

Rosemary's heart thudded when Rita looked at Geoffrey for a moment. Was the woman really so disjointed that she was going to tell Tabitha what she knew of the relationship he had to Rosemary. But Rita looked away.

"No doubt you think it's your superior reporting skills that have made _Wandwork Weekly_ what it is," Rita said, purely venomous now. "I think it's clear to all of us that Rosemary is the one drawing readers."

Lola looked increasingly unhappy. No doubt she'd already had her suspicions about Rita's next words.

"The boycott seems to be working. Our sales are going down. The last issue sold only seventy percent of the previous issue. They're going to sink us if we don't respond to the boycott. We need something, and we need it fast."

"But what?" Tabitha asked.

"Well, we wouldn't be having a meeting on your day off if I knew the answer to that," Rita snapped. "Now, let's start thinking."

* * *

Draco looked up from his grading when a magazine sailed past him and landed on the very edge of his desk with a slapping noise. Actually, he didn't just look up. He jumped and grabbed his wand and yelped like a dog in surprise.

"Sorry," Harry said from the doorway, grinning.

"Oh, I'm sure," Draco drawled. "You're ever so sorry to witness me in humiliating moments."

Harry shrugged unreptentantly. "Just look at it."

"It's _The Quibbler_. You don't think I'm actually going to benefit from reading Lovegood's ideas about our Nightmare Curse? For Merlin's sake, if we can't figure it out, I hardly expect Loony Lovegood—"

"Do you have to call her that? We're not fifteen anymore. Anyway, no, but you might benefit from reading the _Quality Control_ section."

"Another eloquent letter in my defense from Rhea Silvia, whoever she is?"

"Not exactly."

Draco finally opened the magazine, grumbling to himself about enigmatic war heroes and their aggravating ways. Then he raised his eyebrow. He hadn't used to be able to do only the one, but he had less control over the other one since the damage to his face.

"A boycott? Really?"

"More than that, I think it's working. I talked to fellow I know who sells magazines and newspapers at a kiosk in the Ministry building, and he says he's never not sold all his copies of _Wandwork Weekly_. He only sold just over half his stock of the last issue."

Draco grinned at Harry. This was good news indeed. And at a time like this, they could use some good news. Things were getting more and more strained here at Hogwarts the longer those two boys stayed asleep and the longer the culprit went unapprehended. The only people Faith Forsythe spent a lot of time with were her siblings in her house (she necessarily saw less of Ferris, he being a Gryffindor) and the girls in her dormitory room. This was not to mention that they hadn't found Cross and his tutor remained unidentified.

"This is some weight off us, at least," Draco said, voicing his thoughts.

Harry nodded. "A huge weight, actually. Now we can work on our other problems without so much scrutiny and worrying about how it'll be written up in the next issue."

"Assuming the boycott continues to work," Draco said, his spirits suddenly plunging again.

Harry frowned. "Right. Why wouldn't it, though?"

"Well, if I were the editor—whoever their mystery editor is—I would ensure that my next article was so explosive people would buy it even if they'd committed to the boycott. Don't you think?"

Harry sighed, and looked tired again. "Yeah. You're probably right." Then he straightened, and looked happier again. "Still, it's some relief, for now. I'm not going to worry about the next issue until I see it. In fact, I'm thinking of calling up Luna and Ginny to say thank you."

"I don't think Ginny would want that," Draco said casually.

As usual, Harry went stiff and formal at anyone else mentioning his wife. "Why not?"

"Well, I think you're right that she wants you to know that she's The Harpy, and that she's working with Luna. But think about it. If she wanted to discuss it with you, wouldn't she bring it up when you take the kids to visit her?"

Harry leaned against the doorjamb and frowned speculatively. "Yes. I don't know, I guess I thought she wanted me to be the one to bring it up."

"It's good to see that you're still fairly clueless about women, Harry. I don't think I could live in a world where you'd matured to the point that you understood these things."

"I'm the one who's married, here," he protested.

Draco coughed delicately.

"We are not divorced," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Look, I'm not trying to start anything. I'm not even trying to hurt you, surprising as that may be. All I'm saying is, she's got her reasons for doing this, and they're not to rekindle your marriage. She already knows that you're ready for that. She doesn't have to do anything to win you over again. It's _her_ that doesn't want to be with _you_, right now."

"What the hell is she doing, then?" Harry asked, and he sounded like he was in pain. Well, he was in pain. Draco knew it. He and Matt had even talked about it, and that enlightening conversation about Harry's behavior had been a lot of what caused Draco to realize he might even be able to be _friends_ with Harry. According to how Matt described his father before the split with Ginny, Harry was not the person he'd been when Draco had known him.

"I'd say she's saving your reputation."

"But why?"

"Because she knows how much it means to you."

"But . . ." Harry really was clueless about women. It almost made Draco cheerful to know that. The man wasn't perfect, after all. "If she cared about what things meant to me, she'd come home."

"You really are blind, aren't you?" Draco remarked, shaking his head in amazement. "If she's so selfish, why aren't the kids with her?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed a few times.

"Did you honestly think she had no reason to leave, that she's just being selfish and spiteful? Merlin, Harry, she's doing all kinds of things to make your life without her a good one. If I had to guess, I'd say she left you because she thought it would make you happy."

Harry looked tormented and angry, and there were tears in his eyes. The tears still made Draco very uneasy, no matter if they were becoming friends or not.

"I'm not happy. Not at all."

"Obviously. It may be time for you two to have a reasonable discussion about her feelings. As in, a discussion that entails you actually listening to her and not dismissing it out of turn if it doesn't agree with what you think. You really have become pretty good at doing that with most people, but you seem to have a block against doing that with her."

Harry looked properly chastised. "Draco, forgive me, but I have to ask. Are we actually having this conversation?"

Draco laughed. "Yes. Ten years ago, if someone told me I'd be sitting at my desk in the Potions classroom telling Harry Potter how to get his marriage right again, I think I would have gone straight past the stages of denial and drowned myself in the lake." He stopped laughing, but he was still smiling. It felt weird to do that, with him. It was taking some getting used to. "However, the thought remains. She has legitimate reasons for not coming back to you. I'd listen to what she has to say. _Without_ arguing about why she's wrong. Maybe even think about how you should change yourself to be what she needs you to be."

Harry nodded soberly. Then he gave Draco a strange smile. "I think we ought to find you a woman. You'd have a sight more luck than I do."

Draco grinned. "I've already had a sight more luck than you," he quipped. Better not to let Harry see the pain that shot through him at the thought of Vianne Edwards. He should never have started writing to her after that New Year's party. He should have been a professional, remained simply her son's teacher. But he hadn't, and so the lack of correspondence now hurt him. He hadn't written her, she hadn't written him. It seemed traces of the cowardly Draco Malfoy remained.

* * *

Ginny sat across from Luna at Luna's kitchen table. Luna had inherited her father's home as well as her business, and Ginny had come by before going to pick up the kids at the Burrow to spend a day with them. As much as she always looked forward to seeing her babies, it was getting hard. When they talked to her, it was like they talked to other adults now. Strangely formal. Charlotte's babyish monologues and Sirius' happy-go-lucky, mile-a-minute chatter had started to go away. They were quieter around her, and when she asked them how their father was, they told her that he was always tired and working. That he was worried. That he missed her.

And even weirder, they had started to talk about Draco Malfoy. Charley always called him "Pepesser" when she mentioned him, which was cute, but it was Sirius calling him "Draco" that had her more worried. If they were on a first-name basis, that meant they saw him a lot. When she pressed the kids, they just said he told them stories sometimes, cool stories about Dad and New York City. Was the man actually hanging around that much? It would make sense, if he and Harry were working on a cure for this Nightmare Curse thing, but it was troubling that he was around often enough to tell them stories.

"Is there something bothering you?" Luna asked calmly, sipping a cup of tea. Her eyes immediately started searching the air around Ginny for pests.

Ginny forced herself to smile and sip her own tea. "No, just thinking. Sales are up, right?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said happily. "I was looking over some of Daddy's old records, and we haven't sold this many issues since we printed some articles about Harry about ten years ago."

Ginny smiled genuinely, this time. "Our plans are working, then."

"Yes. The boycott idea was very good. A lot of readers are writing in to say that they won't buy _Wandwork Weekly_ anymore."

"Excellent. But we need to be prepared. _Wandwork_ will definitely retaliate in some way, and we need to have some countermeasures in place. Oh, did you find out who that Rhea Silvia person is yet?"

"No," Luna said calmly. "She seems very passionate about this, though, doesn't she?"

"It could be a man, though I can't think why he'd choose that name."

"It's a woman," Luna said with perfect certainty. She didn't offer to explain, and Ginny had to go get the kids.

"Thanks for the tea, Luna. I'll drop by after work on Tuesday to talk about the next issue."


	18. Chapter 13: Helpless

Chapter Thirteen

Helpless

"Draco!"

Draco turned around in the corridor to see Professor Thumbley speeding toward him, breath huffing. She was remarkably out of shape for such a thin woman, he thought briefly, but then realized she was gasping out of fear, not exertion. He took a breath and steeled himself.

"There's another one, isn't there?" he asked softly, so no one could hear.

She nodded. "He's already been taken to the hospital wing," she whispered, taking his cue.

"Who is it?"

"Gilbert Wraven."

"The Slytherin boy? Isn't he a second-year?"

"That's right."

"And Faith Forsythe?"

Thumbley shook her head of wild gray hair and met his gaze sadly. "No one seems to think they'd ever even spoken to each other before. He definitely hadn't expressed any romantic interest in her."

"Do you know what this means?" he growled, his heart dropping into his stomach. "It means our theory was completely wrong! We're going to have to start over."

He wanted to stay calm and keep from worrying any students. But he couldn't even prevent himself from running to get to the hospital wing as quickly as he could.

---Break---

Harry sighed in relief when he saw Draco limping through the door. He had been staring at Gilbert Wraven for the past five minutes in an utter panic, and he was both hideously frightened and coldly furious. All in all, his greeting to Draco was very solemn.

"Thank Merlin," was what he said. He didn't move from the chair he'd dragged over to the bed they'd laid Gilbert on. The boy let out a soft moan, and Harry flinched. Nightmares, visions, whatever it was, these boys were experiencing something traumatic while they slept, and Harry wasn't stopping it. He had managed to lessen the frequency of their nightmares, but he couldn't wake them up.

The boys were trapped, lost in a world of dreams that Harry couldn't imagine.

And he was trapped at the side of their bed, trying to help them.

All of them, trapped.

Draco's hand fell on his shoulder in sympathy. Harry nearly recoiled, but instead sat very still. This friendship with Draco was in the earliest stages, poised tentatively on a knife edge of past hurt and blame. It was the eighteen-year-old Draco that a eighteen-year-old Harry had cause to recoil from. Neither of them were those boys anymore. Events and circumstances had done their work, and time had done the rest. Harry was feeling exceptionally bitter, after thinking over what Draco had said about Ginny, what Ginny herself had said in the past. He was realizing that somehow in his marriage, he'd remained a boy. He was a friend and a father and a faithful member of the magical world, but he'd never quite managed to grow up as a lover.

Quentin struggled on a frightened gasp, and Harry's focus returned to the room he was in and the boys he was here for. Nothing. Nothing was working. They needed the person who'd created this spell. The wizard who'd done this had tied an Endless Sleep spell to one of the myriad spells that could cause bad dreams, and without that wizard, Harry couldn't untie the two. If he could, he could stop them both in turn. He'd had a marginal effect on the intensity of the nightmares by using the countercurses for several of the spells that might have gone into the mix . . . but without knowing how to undo the link to their enchanted sleep, he couldn't end it completely.

"We have to find him, Draco," he said quietly.

The hand on his shoulder suddenly removed itself, and Harry knew that Draco had been lost in thought, too, not realizing he'd been offering such comfort. Harry explained the magic behind this curse, and Draco nodded intelligently. He had already understood most of it already.

"So the only person who can end this is the one who started it," Draco summed up in simple terms.

Harry nodded. "And we're back to the beginning with that one. It's definitely got nothing to do with Quidditch, as Gilbert's not on the Slytherin team. It doesn't seem to be about Faith anymore, either. What else do they have in common? They're all three boys . . . two fourth-years, one Hufflepuff, one Ravenclaw. A second-year Slytherin."

"Hey . . ."

"What?"

"Gilbert always wanted to be in Ravenclaw. He didn't want to be in Slytherin. I noticed his disappointment the night he was sorted, and I've seen him spend much more time with the Ravenclaw students. What do you know about Quentin? You know his father, right?"

Harry shook his head, denying Draco's idea that it was a Ravenclaw issue. "Quentin's a great kid, loved being in Hufflepuff. Reminds me quite a bit of Cedric Diggory—you remember him—only not so stuck on himself."

"Well, there goes that idea. Shit, shit, triple shit. I don't know."

---Break---

Matt, Bear, and Basil sat together at the Gryffindor table for dinner in the Great Hall. They talked in low voices about the series of attacks.

"Do you think they'll close the school?" Bear asked.

Basil shook his head. "No. If they were going to, they'd have done it by now. It wouldn't really help anything, I don't think. They can't close the school indefinitely, and the person who's doing this would be back here whenever they started school again."

"It's got to be an older student, though," Matt said, repeating himself. "Nobody our age could handle something like this."

"It could be someone our age, someone really intelligent," Basil said, also repeating himself.

Matt shook his head, feeling positive now. "No. My dad would have figured it out by now if it was just a kid, he has so much more experience. Besides, it's somebody who's got good control of their magic, someone who's been using it for a long time. This kind of spell takes a lot of work."

Basil nodded slowly. "You're probably right."

Bear shivered. "Have you guys starting feeling like somebody's watching you when you're walking around the school? Like whoever's doing it is trying to pick their next victim?"

Matt and Basil eyed each other, daring the other one to be the first to admit to such unmanly cowardice.

"A little," Matt said. "I guess since we don't know why this person attacks students, it could be any of us."

Basil shook his head again. "No. They've got a system, whoever they are. If they were just attacking people indiscriminately, it would be happening more often."

"Well, they've got to get someone alone, don't they?" Bear pointed out. "And that's hard to do. We're all staying together as much as possible."

"True," Basil said, not conceding in the least, "but that's not it."

"I know Gilbert wasn't that popular, but the other two were," Matt said, trying to think. "It can't be who they're friends with that's upsetting this attacker. I mean, they're all in different houses."

"Yeah, but look at who Gilbert hangs out with," Basil said. "We just saw him studying in the library yesterday, didn't we? With Diane Kilburne and Felicity Forsythe?"

"What about my sister?" a voice said from directly behind Matt. He turned around to see Ferris standing there with a frightened look. "Has something happened to her?"

"Nothing, she's fine," Matt said to assure him. "We were talking about Gilbert. He always spends time with Felicity and Diane, way more than he does with Fagan and Lillith. Can't fault him for not being friends with Bradley Laddon, though," Matt conceded. "He might have stopped insulting everybody all the time, but he's still a huge prat."

Ferris frowned. "Maybe he's doing it."

"Laddon?" Bear scoffed. "That kid couldn't put a silencing charm on a mute. Besides, like we were saying earlier, the attacker has to get people alone. No one would go anywhere alone with Bradley Laddon."

Ferris shrugged. "It makes sense for it to be a Slytherin, is all. They all come from such dark families."

"Why would they attack someone in their own house?"

"Maybe because Gilbert acted like he was too good for them," Ferris suggested.

Matt looked over at the Slytherin table, saw Lysander laughing and kissing Lark, and saw Belinda Belladonna, the poor Slytherin who was the only girl in her year, showing her fellow Beater Ichabod Pollack some move she wanted to try out during their next game. He frowned.

"Maybe."

He was not convinced.

---Break---

"What are you doing here, Sorenson?"

"I could ask you the same question, Wraven."

"This is my room."

"Funny, it's mine, too," Apollo said sarcastically. He and Niles had always had a hard time getting along, and Apollo had never wasted much time on his perpetually surly roommate. Gilbert's attack had changed that.

The problem was that Niles always held himself back, so much that Apollo had a hard time thinking of Niles as a real human being. Today, Apollo had been there when the Headmistress had approached him. She had let go of Fayne's arm, stepped forward, and taken the arm of the younger boy. Before she even said anything, Niles went white as a sheet and stepped away from her. He hadn't said a word, not a cry, nothing to show what he was thinking or feeling. Her careful, apologetic explanation that his younger brother was the latest victim was redundant. Niles had immediately walked away. And no one had seen him the rest of the day. Apollo had started to get worried when Niles didn't appear for dinner. He'd checked the Potions classroom, even though he'd seen Professor Malfoy at dinner and knew Niles was not with him. But if Niles really wanted to be alone, he'd be in their room, Apollo had thought, and here he was.

"What do you want, Sorenson?"

"Nothing," Apollo shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."

"All right?" Niles burst out, and Apollo was surprised. He didn't think he'd ever heard Niles raise his voice before. "Am I _all right_? My brother is laying in the hospital wing with no hope of ever waking up again, subject to who knows what kind of torture all the time, and you want to know if I'm _all right_?"

_Okay, maybe it was a stupid thing to say._

Niles let out a wild laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Sorry," Apollo offered carefully, trying to think through what he was saying this time. "It's just . . . I didn't think you were very close. I didn't know how you felt about it."

Niles smiled bitterly. "Right. Because it's me. Maybe I don't really have feelings, is that it?"

Apollo's thoughts had been just that only minutes ago, but . . . well. "Yeah, I kinda did think that," he said boldly. "You don't actually show any, you know."

"Maybe it's because I'm not quite as eager to get mushy with the rest of you queers."

Apollo rolled his eyes. "Okay, you could at least try having a friend. You know, someone who wouldn't mind listening for a minute if you were pretty upset about what's happened to your brother, and you wanted to talk about it. I bet that would be nice right now. Unfortunately, you're an asshole and nobody wants to talk to you."

Niles' face was blotched with red, and Apollo, for the first time, wondered if Niles blushed like that because he was angry or because he was embarrassed.

"Of course, there's me," Apollo said more quietly. "I did come in to see if you were okay."

"We've been in the same house for four years," Niles said, not looking at him. "Why do you suddenly think I would want to talk to you?"

Apollo shrugged. "I'm offering. That's more than I can say for anyone else." He smiled wryly, and made a self-depracatory comment to lessen Niles' tension. "And I always thought it was the Hufflepuffs who were supposed to be kind to everybody."

Niles grunted. "You really are a disgrace to Slytherin. You should be in Gryffindor."

"So I've been told," Apollo said cheerfully, and he sat down on the edge of his bed, trying to catch Niles' eyes. "Of course, I did get sorted into Slytherin, somehow. I guess the hat made a mistake."

Niles grunted again, but it sounded amused this time.

"That would explain things," Apollo mused. "I mean, look at all the Slytherins who should have been in another house. Me, my brother, Professor Malfoy even . . . and your brother, of course."

"My brother is a damn good Slytherin!" Niles shouted, standing up.

Apollo smiled sadly. "I'm glad to hear you finally admitting that. Maybe next you'll finally admit you love your own family."

Niles froze. His hands were clenched into fists. He was pale, and looked deadly angry. Then suddenly he just looked sad, and solemn, and worried. He looked a way that Apollo had never seen him before. Vulnerable.

"Maybe I will," he said in a choked voice. "Maybe I wish Gilbert would wake up, and maybe I wish I could find out who did this to him so I can cause them as much pain as they've caused."

Apollo looked down, giving Niles the room to talk without feeling judged. They weren't friends by a long shot, but any decent person could do this for someone. Just listen to them, even if they didn't like them much. Situations like this did bring out the humanity in a kid, he reflected. Even kids who were normally grouchy little automatons.


	19. Chapter 14: Panicked Plotting

Chapter Fourteen

Panicked Plotting

Lola sat at her desk frowning. When Tabitha and Geoffrey swept into the office in a giggling mess of tangled limbs, she scowled at them. They knew she disapproved of such blantant displays, but she usually just ignored them. Geoffrey, who'd been tickling Tabitha in a very unbecoming place, straightened up at Lola's look.

"Well, Tabby, I've—I've got to get going. Got that new Dumbledore statue being revealed in an hour, after all. I've got to get some quotes before the dedication ceremony starts."

He hurried back into the tall fireplace and disappeared. Tabitha shot an annoyed glare at Lola and huffily went to her desk to start writing up a report of Michael Corner's scandalous drunken behavior of the night before. Poor Corner had been the butt of countless jokes since Rosemary's article about Ginny Potter's love life and the Minister's Undersecretary was not handling it well. She got only a few sentences in before she realized that Lola had not reserved her death look for Geoffrey's inappropriate attentions. She was now glaring at Rita's closed door.

"What's wrong, Lola?" she asked after deciding she'd rather have to hear her coworker whining than be left in the dark.

"_Her_," Lola said viciously.

"Rita?"

"No."

"Oh, Rosemary."

"Yes. Her."

"What's she done?"

"Taken over this office, that's what!"

"Is she in there with Rita?"

"I think so. I've hardly seen either of them in two days. Rita's working on a new book, you know. I think she's got Rosemary helping her with it."

"So what?"

"So, that's my job. I've been working with Rita for a long time. We used to be at the _Prophet_ together."

"I didn't know."

"As has been said before, there's a lot you don't know," Lola spat. Tabitha was indignant. She got really tired of being told that. After all, _she_ was the one writing the real news in this office. "Rita used to rely on me for everything. Now she's got _Rosemary_."

"Well, Rosemary does do things a lot like Rita's been known to do. I'm sure she's just getting some ideas on how to skew the truth most offensively." Tabitha considered herself rather above her job, and everyone knew it. However, Lola had never heard her speak so openly about her contempt. "Oh, like they don't admit it," she scoffed at Lola's widened eyes. "Rosemary's just cut from the same cloth. Of course Rita likes her."

"Are you joking?" Lola laughed. "They _hate_ each other."

"Oh. Well, good. I hate Rosemary, too."

"You do?"

"Yes." Tabitha squeezed her hands together. "I think she's trying to seduce Geoffrey away from me. I've come on them a couple of times . . . well, they're just too comfortable with each other. I honestly don't know why he would ever consider her, anyway. She's too old for him."

"She's barely three years older than he is," Lola said, sounding amused now. "She's younger than I am."

Tabitha froze. "What does it matter how old you are?" she asked.

"It doesn't, of course," Lola said, but her cheeks were red.

Tabitha stood up. "Have you . . . and Geoffrey . . ."

"It was a long time ago," Lola said dismissively. "Way before he got together with you. It was just a one-time thing, anyway. Curiosity, maybe. Anyway, you and he have got way more of a relationship than he's ever had before. He's stuck with you for a long time. Of course he's not going to leave you for Rosemary."

"But he'll sleep with her on the side," Tabitha said, hearing her voice tremble with anger. "He is, isn't he?"

"Likely," Lola shrugged. She didn't care either way. It _had_ just been curiosity, for her.

"I'll murder that little bitch, that slut," Tabitha snarled.

"What about Geoffrey?"

"What about him? It's _her_ that's trying to steal him away from me."

"And succeeding," Lola reminded her.

"Well, if she's out of the picture, that's not going to happen, is it?"

"I wouldn't mind having her out of the picture . . ." Lola mused. "She's destroying any chance I have of standing out here. She's going to make this magazine into a laughingstock if she's not careful, and then none of us will ever work anywhere else."

Tabitha stopped her angry heaving breaths and sat down suddenly. "Oh. She's going to destroy my career."

"Maybe."

"We've got to stop her."

Lola's bad mood disappeared, and she grinned wickedly. "What do you have in mind?"

* * *

"What are you going to do with the next issue, Rosemary?" Rita asked her sharply. "How are you going to break this boycott?"

"Don't get snippy," Rosemary said, feeling pretty damn good about herself.

"You told me you would get my readers back. Pardon me if I'm a bit panicky at the thought of this magazine going down the toilet."

"Oh, we'll have plenty of readers this week. Tabitha's got that article on a _third_ student attacked at the school run by incompetent fools."

"Everyone will be reporting on that, and you know it. I need something exclusive. I just want to know that you've got a plan."

"Yes. A two-part plan, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You really should have thought of this first part on your own, you know."

"What's that?" Rita asked, ignoring the snide comments as best she could. Rosemary was the one who'd gotten them into this mess, she could get them out of it.

"First, we'll print a couple of the nasty letters we've received. One of the main objections in _The Quibbler_ is that we're not fair and balanced. So let's balance things. We'll print some of the unsavory comments people have sent us."

Rita smiled in a very victorious way. "I did already think of that, actually. Imagine that."

"That's good. I'm glad. However, that's only the first part. You see, no one will know we've done that if nobody's reading the magazine. So I've got an article for the next issue that will get us _plenty_ of readers back. Maybe even some new ones."

"And? What is it?"

Rosemary smiled. "Oh, you can wait another couple of days. Let's just say I've got some information from my contact at Hogwarts that's worth any price."

"I want to know who your contact is," Rita said. She'd said this before.

"And yet I won't tell you. Hmm," Rosemary smiled. "Well, anyway, you'll see what happens with the next issue. Have Lola pick out some negative letters to print, would you?"

She stood up. Rita's eyes sparkled with disgust and anger. Rosemary had her between a rock and a hard place, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Sit down," she snapped.

Rosemary sat, her serene countenance unchanged. "Yes, Rita?"

"It's Ms. Skeeter," Rita replied. "I'm the editor of this magazine, Ms. Carthy. Keep that in mind."

"Of course," Rosemary said with a simple smile.

"_You_, Rosemary, will pick out the letters, _and_ you will write the article. Lola is going to be busy helping me lay out the pages."

Rosemary's smile was suddenly much stiffer. Rita was trying to take control back by returning her allegiance to Lola. Well, she'd see how far that would get her. Rosemary was perfectly aware that even if she was _Wandwork Weekly_'s worst enemy, she was also its saving grace. Rita knew it, too. She could have her little snit, then she'd be begging Rosemary for the new article again. However, Rosemary wouldn't forget this little display of petty grubbing for control.


	20. Article 5

_In the Closet_

_Exclusive by Rosemary Carthy_

While many in the magical community have previously suspected Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, or both, of using the respected reputation of Hogwarts to shape a more positive image than they deserve, there has been a limit to our suspicions. Malfoy has used the honoured position of professor in an attempt to erase the despicable crimes of his past, and Potter has used the school as a refuge from the many questions we are asking concerning his mental stability. But have these two gone even farther?

Sources at Hogwarts have revealed that there is a proverbial skeleton in each man's closet, and they have used their positions at the school as a front to carry out clandestine investigations on their rogue family members. Potter is merely covering up someone already known—his boorish Muggle cousin. Malfoy's secret is a bit darker. Sources at the school report hearing Malfoy discuss with Potter a person he describes as his brother. I have thus far been unable to discover the identity of a second Malfoy male, but Potter and Malfoy's discussions have made it abundantly clear that the other Malfoy is a dangerous Dark wizard. I leave aside questions as to why Malfoy would not inform the wizarding world of such a dangerous character immediately, as I suspect it's simply his policy to remain secretive.

Of course I was naturally curious as to why Potter and Malfoy, enemies of such long standing, would be working together so closely to keep their secrets. Potter's letter published in the _Daily Prophet_ was merely a formality to acknowledge a decision the Ministry had already reached . . . or perhaps more, as I suspected. It has been confirmed by many at Hogwarts that Potter and Malfoy are "friends as much as colleagues" as one source put it. Pressing for further information, I was able to discover that Malfoy is often seen coming or going from the private rooms at the school that Potter shares with his children, and they are frequently to be found together in their offices. Potter's children share a level of familiarity with Malfoy that students and professors alike find unusual.

This of course leads me to the following: skeletons aren't the only thing these two have been keeping in the closet. It seems reasonable to suspect that Potter and Malfoy, so often together and on a level of friendship they do not share with other adults at the school, may indeed have a relationship of another kind. Though it has long been a point of contention and even shame among wizardkind, these two likely consider themselves above the commonly held feelings and beliefs. They have proven this sort of arrogance in the past.

I was able to track down a couple of former Hogwarts students who had the opportunity to routinely observe interactions between these two while they were in school. "Draco was always going on about him," commented Vincent Crabbe, a former Slytherin recently released from Azkaban and a constant ally of Malfoy's until his sudden disappearance following Neville Longbottom's death. "Always _too_ hateful, defensive-like, you know?" A former school chum of Potter's who wishes to remain nameless believed the same thing about Potter. "He always wanted to know where Malfoy was, what he was doing."

Even so, it is difficult to understand how such a relationship could develop between two loyal members of the magical world that disapproves of it. Healer Warbeck Wackerford, whose expert advice is routinely asked for in the long-term ward at St. Mungo's, confirmed that a homosexual relationship between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter is a real possibility.

"Everything about it would make sense to someone of their traumatized minds and emotions. Both have been abandoned by women whom they loved, and both have experienced isolation recently as a result of Potter's revelation of Malfoy's identity. As they are in close contact, it is only sensible that they might turn to each other to deal with these upsetting issues."

I brought up Potter's children as an obstacle to this type of situation, but Healer Wackerford found the children only another confirmation of the possibility.

"Potter has expressed a deep loyalty to his children. If Malfoy has treated his children well, and been accepted in turn by them, this would be a strong pull to Potter's emotions. In fact, their presence creates a loving family atmosphere that Malfoy no doubt admires and craves for himself."

I brought up their past enmity, but Healer Wackerford again seemed to believe this would be a way for them to bond rather than to repel.

"They have gone through similar experiences. Both had families torn apart and killed by the war, both were threatened by Voldemort, and they together risked their lives to end that war. That mutual history would be a firm ground to have established a relationship from. I would consider that the beginning point, what drew them together to begin with, and other factors likely influenced them after that."

Despite Healer Wackerford's assurance that the possibility exists, it is definitely too soon to say. These two are still Hogwarts professors and still clearly serve as role models for their students. It would be beyond arrogance to carry on a relationship within the school, it would be downright irresponsibility. What the parents of Hogwarts students must decide for themselves is whether or not they believe Potter and Malfoy are capable of that kind of irresponsibility. They have taken risks in the past, it is true. But would they risk their enormous and precarious reputation on such a relationship? And would they do it at such a tense and unfavorable moment, when they should be focusing on the danger at Hogwarts?

I would venture to say that there is one person who could answer the question of this relationship definitively: Ginny Potter. Perhaps her separation from Harry is more reasonable than it seems.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Well, now things are going to get ugly! Poor Harry and Draco. Like they didn't have enough to worry about with the Nightmare Curse and their relatives. I'm just so cruel to them._


	21. Chapter 15: Reasonable Assumptions

Chapter Fifteen

Reasonable Assumptions

"Reasonable. I'll _show_ you reasonable!"

"Do calm down, Ginny."

"Shut up, Julius." She did a double-take. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in court?"

"I just finished up, and heard the news."

"_News,_" she repeated derisively. "It's not news. It's just trash."

"You seem to be expending a great deal of energy on trash today."

"What do you mean?"

"If it's not worth considering, why are you reading it and remarking on it?"

Ginny looked down at the magazine on her desk—which had a picture of Harry and Draco side-by-side, her husband's _hand_ on Draco's _shoulder_ while they looked at the three students laid out in the hospital wing (and how the hell had anyone gotten that picture, anyway?)—and back up at Julius, who was leaning in her doorway with his trademark lazy confidence. Ginny knew it was part of his act that made him so successful—anybody who looked so confident must know something you don't—but it was still effective, even on her. It made her not want to answer him. As did her anger over that picture. And the article.

"I will assume you don't believe it."

"Of course not. Merlin, Julius, I'm married to one of them. If anyone's in a position to know his sexual orientation, it's me."

"Maybe you're just not willing to believe it."

"What I'm not willing to believe, Julius, is that this Carthy bitch actually has a job." She shook her head slowly. "Something's really bothering me about this one. Something about the way it's written . . . I can't put my finger on it, but it's too fishy."

"She obviously has access to a lot of people at the school," Julius said.

"No she doesn't. It seems to me that she's got one person there—one who will snap photographs like this without caring if it hurts the families—and a whole lot of bravado. Look at who she came up with to interview . . ." Ginny narrowed her eyes. The people she had interviewed . . . something about that? Was that what was bothering her? She was trying so hard to think that Julius' next interruption caused her control to snap.

"She did ask people who knew them fairly well, though."

"Julius, I'm tired of this!" she shouted, slamming the magazine down. "You keep arguing her side because it'll finalize my divorce and you'll have a chance with me, but you need to get over yourself. It's not going to happen. Now would you please go away so I can think?"

Julius disappeared very quickly after that, but Ginny didn't have any time to feel remorse for breaking his heart so mercilessly. She quickly tried to reboard her train of thought. She'd been so close to realizing something.

"Ginny?"

"Gah!" she yelped in surprise, and turned to the fireplace. "Mom! How many times do I have to tell you, don't call me at work!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, Ginny, I didn't know. This would be so hard to take, if it was me. Haven't you even heard . . .?"

"Mo-ther! You can't possibly _believe_ that Harry, my husband, is _gay_!"

"No, of course not, dear," her mother replied, a confused frown on her face, and she scrambled to recover. "I just thought you might have a hard time coping with all the rumours."

"I'm doing fine," Ginny said viciously, obviously not fine at all but just as obviously not in the mood for any discussion of it. "Now I really have to get to work. Sorry, Mom. I'll see you this weekend."

"Okay, dear. Just don't let it get to you."

Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently and waited for her mother to say goodbye. Merlin's wrinkled old balls, but her mother was such a gossip-mongering snoop! If she hadn't interrupted, Ginny would probably have been able to put her finger on what was bothering her so much by now. She'd just returned to reading the article when she heard her name called from the fireplace again, this time a male voice.

"Dad!" she roared, turning around. "I _said_— Oh. Charlie. Hi."

"Hey, Sis. I just heard about that new article. You okay?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm fine, really. I'm just trying to figure out something. Have you read this article?"

"Not personally."

She sighed in frustration. She could have used Charlie's brain. "Never mind, then."

"Sis, are you still eating and sleeping and all?"

"Yes, Charlie. Listen, I'll write to you later tonight, okay? I can't imagine how you found the time to set up a long-distance firecall . . ."

"Ginny. Do you have any idea what the date is today?"

"No, why?"

"It is November the twenty-sixth."

"Is it really?" she gasped. _When did October end? Have I really been that busy?_

"Ginevra Potter, you have been separated from your husband for over eight months. I don't think you've even talked to him. Let's not make it nine, huh? You call up that insensitive prat, tell him he's insensitive and that you're deeply wounded, and that for all that you miss him and want to be a family again. It's that simple."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" she said sourly.

"You know what I found the other day?"

"No, what?"

"A letter you wrote to me during your third year. You had been talking to that Durmstrang student who was from Romania and you wanted to tell me about some great camping spots."

"Oh, yeah," she recalled, and blushed. She might have flirted with him. Just a little bit. Well, he was _foreign_.

"You know what else you mentioned in that letter?"

"No, what?"

"Harry."

"Did I?"

"He was in the Tri-Wizard Tournament that year, remember?"

"Of course."

"You were telling me how he always kept so cool under pressure, how he bottled everything up and kept his feelings to himself so he could cope with everything."

"Oh."

"So I just thought I'd remind you that you knew exactly what you were in for, years before you married him," Charlie said cheerfully. "I'll let you get back to work, Sis."

"Charlie? Charlie?" He was gone. "Damn you, Charles Weasley." Then her eyes went blank, and she retreated into her memories of the past. She didn't know how long she sat like that, but she came back to herself very abruptly with a gasp of shock. "The Tri-Wizard Tournament. Skeeter. This woman reminds me exactly of _Rita effing Skeeter_." The mystery editor. It couldn't be . . . could it?

---Break---

Harry was playing on the rug in front of the fire with his kids and ignoring the stack of essays waiting for him when the fire sparked and popped and a head burst into being. He came to attention, thinking it might be Kingsley or Dan with information about Cross or his unidentified tutor. Then he blinked several times, surprised and wondering if she would still be there when his eyes opened.

"Ginny?"

"Hi, Harry."

"Mommy!" Charley shrieked in delight, and stretched out her hands toward the fire. Harry grabbed her, just in case. She knew that she couldn't touch anyone in the fireplace, but maybe she'd forget in her excitement over seeing Ginny.

"Hi, Mom; Hi, Mom; Hi, Mom," Sirius started chanting happily, until Ginny smiled at him.

"Hey, Crash."

"Ginny . . . it's great to hear from you. It's really great." Harry tried not to cry. She had no idea how great. Or maybe she did.

She looked past him into the room. "Malfoy's not there, is he?" she asked suspiciously.

Harry sighed, and slumped in disappointment. "Not you, too."

"Oh, Merlin, Harry, of course not. I just thought these things usually come from a grain of truth, like Malfoy actually being in your rooms a lot. I mean, Sirius and Charlotte have mentioned him to me. More than once."

Harry cuddled a suddenly placid Charley in his arms, she recoiling because she instantly assumed she was in trouble. He laid his cheek on top of her fiery head and sighed even deeper.

"Ginny . . . I need you to understand. I really don't care if anyone else does, but please don't jump on me for this. Draco is my friend. We really are friends now."

Surprisingly, Ginny didn't object, protest, or cry out in disgust. Well, when she was playing the role of The Harpy, she was defending the man, so why should it be so surprising? Maybe he was just too used to fighting with her.

"I . . . This is hard to say, but I think I'm glad. You don't really have a lot of close friends."

"I don't, do I?" he mused. He didn't usually dwell on the distance he kept between himself and his friends like Luna and Dan, but they didn't have the level he used to share with Hermione and Ron. Charlie had become a good friend over the years, of course, but he was family. "Well, in that case, this must be healthy for me."

"But Malfoy, Harry," she said, but she sounded like she was teasing.

"Well, even if that _Wandwork_ article was a lot of bollocks, Wackerford got a couple of things right. Draco and I did go through a lot of similar things, and we've even been through some of them together. We had to start somewhere. Honestly, I never thought we'd be anything more than fellow professors. But like I said, Wackerford's not a complete idiot. The kids and Draco do get along, and that means a lot to me."

Ginny nodded, listening without really listening. She was obviously more focused on whatever she'd called to say. He was exceedingly grateful that she wasn't arguing with him about this. She even sounded genuine when she said she was glad.

"Did you need anything, Ginny?"

"Oh . . ." Now she looked truly uncomfortable. "Charlie had to remind me that November is almost over. I've been so busy with work and with . . . with . . ."

"With _The Quibbler_?" he prompted helpfully.

"I wondered if you'd noticed," she said, looking happier.

"Yes, I did. Ginny, if you're doing all that for me, why . . .?"

"Okay, so this is why I called. It's almost Christmas, Harry."

"I know."

"It's been almost nine months."

"I _know_."

"Are you doing okay?"

"No," he muttered, and the tears came on him so abruptly that he choked when he tried to speak. "No, none of us are." Suddenly, Crash was cuddled close to his side, clutching his arm. It made him choke all the more, moved beyond words that Sirius was always there to comfort him when he was sad.

"But you keep saying that you are."

"I thought you didn't really care."

Ginny face was frustrated and sad, just like his. Could it be that she wasn't happy, either? Did she miss him?

"Oh, Harry, we need to talk. We really need to talk."

"I know, Ginny. I'm so sorry. I really am. I've been such an amazing bastard to you, and I _promise_ that if you want to talk, I'm really going to listen, and I'm going to tell you how I really feel, just like you wanted."

She smiled, but it looked like the trembling kind that might turn into crying at any moment. "I want to. I want to talk, and I want to see all of you."

"_Really_?" he breathed, squeezing Charley until she whined in protest.

"Harry . . . can we be together for Christmas? Just the five of us, at home, in Grimmauld Place? That way we can have a good holiday with the kids, and you and I will be able to talk. And I really miss being at home."

"I would really like that, Ginny," he said carefully. "I would like that very much."

"Good." Her smile became almost vicious, suddenly. "I have a few things to take care of now. _Quibbler_ stuff. I'll see you soon."

"Mommy?" Charley spoke up, reaching out her hands pitifully.

"I love you, Charlotte. I'll see you soon. Crash, you be good for Daddy and don't give Headmistress McGonagall a heart attack, okay?"

"Okay," the little boy said solemnly.

When Ginny was gone, Sirius tried to crawl into his lap to share it with Charley. Harry didn't mind, even when Charley made an ugly noise of bratty protest. He held them both tight and breathed out a thank-you to whoever was listening.


	22. Chapter 16: Brothers and Sons

Chapter Sixteen

Brothers and Sons

"Well, as usual, she got most of it wrong," Draco replied, trying to keep himself from lashing out at Greg. Greg was only joking, not trying to wind him up; Greg had no idea of the amount of hate mail that had poured onto him and Harry over the latest "news" from _Wandwork Weekly_. "Leaving aside where that article ended up, she even got the information about my brother wrong."

Greg's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "You really do have one?"

"Yes. And I've known about him since I was nine years old. The Aurors have been aware of him since Matt's kidnapping, and they've been trying to locate him."

"Matt Potter? You mean he was involved in that?"

Draco shrugged. "He got away." He frowned in memory. "Stupid git only knew he was a wizard for a few months before he went looking for trouble."

"So where did he come from, anyway?"

"My father, the world's greatest fool. I've known about it since I was nine and snuck into his study, and even now, I still can't believe he had an affair with a Muggle."

"No lost love between you two, then?"

"The great fool or the stupid git?"

Greg laughed. "Never mind. Amazing how well the secret's been kept, though."

"Well, the entire Auror office knows. I don't know if they saw fit to inform the Minister. I'm sure they have now." He sighed. "Anyway, I guess I'll have to make a statement to the _Prophet_, now that Carthy's gone and blabbed. How the _hell_ did she find out? She's got to have someone at the school spying on me."

Greg looked down at the floor and scuffed his toe. "Well, I've been meaning to tell you," he cracked, and looked up with a grin.

Draco smiled in appreciation, but the thought concerned him. Someone at this school, likely someone on the staff, was feeding information to Rosemary Carthy. It wasn't Harry, it wasn't Greg, and it probably wasn't McGonagall. That was as far as he could determine. He changed the subject.

"Enough about my brother, how's your brother doing?"

Greg's smile fell away. "I don't know."

Draco frowned. "Why not? Isn't he still writing?"

Greg nodded. "The letters seem strange. His last letter said he was in Egypt, but he didn't even mention the pyramids. It was like he wasn't really there, like he was making it up. I think something's happened."

Draco gestured at Greg to sit down at his desk, giving the young man permission to speak his mind. "Like what?"

"Like he ran out of money, or got robbed, or got hurt, or something, and he doesn't want me to know."

"Why wouldn't he want you to know?"

"Because he knows how I'd react." Greg shrugged, looking embarrassed. "It's an older brother thing. If he was hurt or something, I'd drop everything to run off and rescue him. He wants to make it on his own, he doesn't want my help. It's incredibly frustrating."

Draco shrugged. "If my younger brother was in trouble, I'd ask the criminals how much they wanted to do him in while they were going to the trouble of robbing him."

Greg laughed, but his concern was still there.

"Hey, Jack's going to be fine. He's an adult now, and he's a smart kid. He can handle himself, and you know it. If he got into real trouble, he'd know where to go for help, right?"

Greg nodded. "You're right. I've got to let it go." He stood up. "Plus, I've got to work on a lesson plan. You know, as much as I personally love Ancient Runes, it is really hard to make the class interesting for teenagers."

"Yeah, you really have a hard time walking in their shoes, don't you, old man?"

"Well, I might not be as decrepit as _you_, but I think I found a gray hair this morning," he quipped, and waved a cheerful goodbye.

Draco settled in to judge the consistency of the bottled samples from his third year class. Third year was still amazingly painful. Ran completely ignored him, never raised his hand to answer a question or anything. The term was nearly over, and Draco had still not screwed up the courage to approach the boy and be shot down by him. He still brewed his potion for him every month, but Hagrid came to get it, and Hagrid sat with him at night. Well, at least he'd made friends with his own housemates, at last. He and Quinn Sheffield were getting thick as thieves. His mother would be pleased.

Merlin, his mother . . .

When she of the honey-blond hair and gracefully slender figure first walked in the door and approached his desk, Draco thought he was having a particularly vivid daydream. Then he realized that his daydream likely wouldn't be trembling so obviously. He jumped up from his seat.

"Vianne!"

"Hello, Draco."

It was really odd to hear her call him that. He had precisely five letters from her—written between last New Year's and last April, and he'd kept them all—and they were all addressed to Drew Stevens. The letters had stopped after Matt's kidnapping and the revelation of Draco's identity.

"What . . . what are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you that you are a really awful person and a coward," she said, her voice soft and frightened.

"Oh," he said. In a way, he'd been glad that they hadn't talked, because it had meant he didn't know what she really thought of him. Now she was here to tell him, and he was feeling his heart shatter. And _shit_, it _hurt_. "I mean, you're not the first person to tell me that, but . . . I'm sorry, Vianne. I wish I was someone other than who I am."

She looked at the top of his desk, never meeting his eyes. "That's it? That's all you have to say to me? After what I've done for you?"

"What you've . . . Vianne, what do you mean?"

Her eyes flickered up to him, but still not to really look at him. "Don't you know?"

"Uh . . . know what?"

"About Rhea Silvia."

Draco lost his ability to breathe. "That's _you_?"

Her expression became very uncertain, and she twisted her hands together. "I thought you would know."

"How would I know that?"

"Because of the story."

Draco shook his head. "What story?" he muttered, then his legs gave out and he fell into his seat, stunned. "Rhea Silvia. The real mother of Romulus and Remus, who were raised by a wolf."

She nodded. "I thought you'd realize it was me, I thought you of all people, knowing my son . . ." she whispered, aghast at how badly she'd misjudged the situation. "You really didn't know?"

"Salazar on a stick, Vianne, if I'd known you were on my side, I would have been at yours in a heartbeat." _Did I just say something that ridiculous out loud?_

Vianne finally raised her eyes to look into his. "You would?"

"Of course. But you stopped writing, you . . ."

"I was waiting for you," she said, still whispering, still trembling.

"I thought you wouldn't want me to. With the way Ran has been acting, I thought you—"

"What do you mean? How has Ran been acting?"

"Well," he fumbled. How did she not know this? "He hasn't spoken to me since last April."

"What?"

"I honestly think he hates me. I heard him telling his friend—nice and loud in front of me, to be sure I'd hear it—that you'd almost allowed him to go to a Muggle school this year."

Vianne clasped her hands together. She'd been wringing them fitfully, but now she held on to herself as if for dear life. "He told me it was a suggestion from you. That he might enjoy going there because he was interested in Muggles, as a sort of study program for a year."

Draco shook his head violently. "I would never suggest that a werewolf who was still in adolescence go _anywhere_ he couldn't be closely monitored by a competent wizard. And I would . . . wouldn't have wanted Ran to leave. Not that it's made much of a difference that he stayed. With him here every day but not talking to me, it's just as bad as if he hadn't come. I miss him." He felt a solitary tear slide down his cheek. "I really miss him."

"I knew you cared about him," Vianne said, her eyes on the desk again. "I knew you did."

It struck Draco how incredibly brave Vianne was. She was normally so timid, so reserved. Coming here to tell him off must have taken every bit of strength she had. And now that it was turning out to be so confusing, nothing like she'd thought . . . but this was _good_, wasn't it? This was bloody _brilliant_. She didn't hate him, he didn't think. She thought he'd been avoiding her, she hadn't been avoiding him.

"Yes, I do. And I care about you." Draco hoped she would look at him, and she did. He held her gaze. "I really believed you didn't want to see me or hear from me. Ran has made it abundantly clear that I'm not welcome. I thought you felt the same."

"But I don't," she blurted out.

"If I had known that . . . Vianne, I really am a coward. I'm sorry. I should have tried to explain myself to you, even if I was afraid of your rejection. I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry."

"My father spoke to me, you know. Nearly a year ago. He said that you two had talked, that you had quite a dark history and that you were responsible enough to know that you should keep your distance. Did he know all that time, who you were?"

"No. I told him about the fake history I'd made up for myself. But the truth is even worse." Draco's heart was already broken, but somehow saying this made it hurt even more. "Vianne, you have to stay away from me. You know what I've done, what kind of person I am. Please. This has already been really hard for me, please don't give me hope." His voice broke on those words. "I know I can't be with you."

"Yes, I know who you are, Draco Malfoy," she said softly. He looked up in amazement. She wasn't trembling anymore, and her eyes were clear and bright. Like she was somehow gaining strength from his weakness. "I know that you love my son like a father. I know that you feel the most overwhelming regret for your past, and that you've dedicated the rest of your life to making up for it. I know that you have a caring heart and a courageous spirit that were forged in a fire I can't imagine. And I've spent the last several months telling whoever will listen so."

Draco couldn't speak. He was so overwhelmed by what she was saying that he literally couldn't deal with it. He dropped his face into his hands and tried to think. What was she saying? What was she really doing here?

"Oh, god . . ." he moaned. He could feel moisture on his hands, and realized he was crying. She couldn't really think that about him. It wasn't true. "I'm not like that, you can't really think that," he squeezed out of the lump in his throat. "I'm a murderer, and a liar, and a coward. I come from the worst Dark family, I was dedicated to an evil man just to make my father happy. I'm Draco _fucking_ Malfoy . . ."

Her hand was laying gently on his head, gliding over his ugly, ugly face, and lifting it so he would have to look at her.

"I know who you are," she repeated. "Do you?"

His tears came harder, and he dropped his head again. It was too hard to see what was in her eyes, and too hard to feel so much hope. He put his head down on his desk and wept. Her hand stroked through his hair, was gentle and forgiving against the back of his neck. Merlin, he was so _pathetic_.

"I'm— sorry," he choked. "You must think I'm— such an idiot. Crying—"

"I don't mind," she said softly. Her voice was always so soft, so gentle, but the hesitation had gone, and her voice was as strong as steel . . . "I'm glad you trust me so much. I know you wouldn't be able to do this if you didn't trust me."

That just made it worse. Draco didn't think he'd cried in years, not like this. Sure, he'd had a few tears of frustration leak out when he was learning to live without self-medicating, but nothing like this. This felt so good, so right. It felt like healing. And it was _Vianne_ here with him, comforting him, telling him that she believed in him. Vianne, the beautiful, wonderful, amazing woman whose hidden strength revealed itself to strengthen _him_. He reached up when her graceful fingers slid over his wet cheek and grasped her hand desperately.

"Thank you," he said fiercely. "Thank you."

After another minute, he got control of himself. He forced himself to stop crying and catch his breath. Then he stood up, and saw that she'd been crying, too, her eyes were just as red and her cheeks just as wet as his. Merlin, had she really cried over him?

He couldn't stop himself. He reached out and wiped the tears from her face as tenderly as he knew how. He'd never connected with a woman like this. It was always just simple desire or a simple need to not be alone for one night. He'd never wanted to do something so complicated and emotionally wrought as to smooth away her tears and just look at her. Vianne was beautiful, but it was his heart, not his eye, that just wanted to gaze at her and never look away.

"Draco. I'm glad this turned out so differently from what I expected." Her voice was a little shaky again. "I'm glad I didn't just rail at you and leave. I'm so happy to know that you still care about me the way I do about you. But this changes everything for me."

He smiled, but it was wobbly. "For me, as well."

"Draco, I'm afraid," she whispered. "I'm afraid of what this means."

He tried to deny his own fear, and he took the last step between them. He put his arms around her, afraid she would pull away, that it would be too much. Instead, she leaned against him and sighed with something like relief. She was on the tall side, but so was he. He could just rest his cheek in her hair and breathe in the warm smell of vanilla that clung to her, just like it always had before. He didn't try to kiss her, to move his hands, to do anything. He just wanted to hold her. It was amazing enough that she was here, letting him. He wasn't ready to push his luck.


	23. Chapter 17: Comfort On A Cold Night

_So . . . I have no idea where this chapter came from. I was writing something else, and the chapter just left me behind and went on and wrote itself. I'm not sure where it really fits into the story, but I ended up being fairly pleased with it, so I'm including it. Hope you like it!_

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Chapter Seventeen

Comfort On A Cold Night

Late November, Harry thought to himself as he strode the darkened corridor, was an uncomfortably cold time of year. He should have put on his cloak, but he'd forgotten how drafty the castle could get on winter nights. He thought back to his children, snug in thick blankets and warmed by the banked fire—and under a heavy Monitoring spell to that would tell him if they even opened their eyes, let alone got out of bed—and knew with a sense of peace that they were safe. Hogwarts was the first home he'd ever known, and it took care of his children, too. But it was more than that, he thought, and his step was light and joyful. Their hearts were suddenly safer, too. Ginny was reaching back out to her family. Christmas was going to be infinitely better than he'd imagined.

He was going to Draco's small room in Gryffindor Tower to tell him about it. After all the advice, inexpert as it might be, that Draco had given him, Harry had to let him know immediately about this. He wanted to know how he should act, what he should say. He kept wiping away tears of joy and relief as he fairly flew to the tower to relay the good news that just wouldn't keep.

He ran into Draco coming around a corner—literally ran into him, and grabbed the other man by the shoulders to keep him from falling. He looked like he was just coming from McGonagall's office, and Harry wondered why. As he set Draco back on his feet, he frowned.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Draco said, and flashed him a dazzling smile, looking happier than Harry had ever seen him. He shifted his shoulders when Harry didn't let go, his smile fading. "Um, you didn't hurt me or anything."

"But you've been _crying_."

Harry briefly remembered the last time he had run across Draco really crying. It still made his blood go cold to think of it. He'd nearly killed the other teenager that day. He was suddenly called back into the present by Draco jerking himself out of Harry's painfully tight grip.

"So have you," the blond observed, shoving his rather disheveled hair away from his face.

Reminded, Harry took off his glasses and used his sleeve to clean off the salty streaks on the lenses that were obstructing his vision. "Ginny called," he said, trying to sound casual. Then he grinned until his mouth hurt. "She wants the whole family to go home for Christmas. She wants to spend the holidays at the house with me and the kids. She wants to talk."

Draco grinned back, his confusion over Harry's agitated state clearing up. "Brilliant," he congratulated, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Come on, if you keep it quiet, we'll toast your upcoming holiday with a bit of Rosmerta's mead, which I just happen to have in my room."

Harry chuckled quietly, so as not to wake the portraits. "And you said you didn't go there to drink."

"I don't," he said with a lift of his good eyebrow. "I stay right here for that."

They both laughed softly. Harry was no longer concerned over any possible substance abuse issues his friend might have, so he knew it was only a joke. Well, Draco _did_ in fact have some very fine mead in his room, but it had hardly been touched and was filmed over with dust. After they toasted Harry's newly settled upon Christmas plans, Harry returned to his earlier concern.

"What happened to you this evening?"

"Why do you ask?" Draco asked mysteriously, fighting another impossibly happy grin as he stared at his glass of mead. It was glowing honey-and-amber in the firelight, and for some reason, that seemed to please him inordinately. "I really love this colour," he added in an undertone.

"Draco, you were coming back from McGonagall's office and you look like you've been crying your eyes out."

"Oh, yes . . ." he muttered, and his face lit with another really foolish smile.

"Merlin, Draco, you look like you're in love."

"Do I?" he said dreamily.

Harry felt rather alarmed. "What's in this mead?"

"Fermented honey and spices. Haven't you ever had mead before?"

"Are you sure there's not a love potion?"

"What?"

"Draco, you look like you're swooning over a full-blooded veela, and yet you've just come from the Headmistress. Do you need an antidote?"

"We were letting her know that Vianne was leaving. Vianne didn't want to come or go from the school without McGonagall's permission, see. What with our tightened security."

"Vianne? Who is Vianne?"

"The most amazing woman I've ever met in my life," he said softly, and he was still staring at his glass that he'd only taken one sip from. "And her hair is just this colour in the firelight."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "You're completely lovesick, aren't you?"

"Mmm-hmm," he answered absently.

"Is she from the U.S.?"

"No."

"Is she an old friend of yours?"

"No, I only met her last year."

"Really. Where?" This was exasperating, Harry thought. It hadn't even been this much work to get Draco to talk about his addiction to painkillers.

"Here. At the school. When she came to pick up Ran for the holidays. You know, a lot of parents were doing that last year, when Tyrell was running about."

"_Ran_? This is Ran Edwards' _mother_?"

"She's quite young. She was only nineteen when she had him."

"Yes, but . . . doesn't Ran hate you?"

"Apparently," he answered, and suddenly there was discontent in his expression. "He let me think she did, too, the sneaky little gobshite."

"But she doesn't, I take it."

"No," and now the smile returned. "She came here tonight because she thought I was avoiding her. Well, I was avoiding her, but only because Ran made me think she wanted it that way. Anyway, she showed up in my classroom to tell me off for treating her so badly."

"I didn't know you had something with her. Did _anyone_ know you had something with her?"

"I think Ran might have. But we haven't had anything, not since April. We were both too afraid to contact each other."

"Apparently she got over it."

Draco smiled. "She's Rhea Silvia."

"From _The Quibbler_?" Harry had long been wondering if this Rhea Silvia woman had a thing for Draco, with the way she wrote about him. "How did she come up with the name?"

Draco gave him a superior look. "You weren't well-educated in Roman myth, were you?"

Harry snorted in amusement. "It's not a very popular subject at primary school, no."

"I dare say Matt knows the name, he went to a wizarding school, didn't he? Anyway, I'd completely forgotten about the story, but I thought the name sounded familiar."

"And?"

"She was trying to let me know it was her, the way Ginny was by calling herself The Harpy. Rhea Silvia was the mother of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome."

"Ah. She lost them to be raised by a wolf."

"Exactly."

"Damn," he mused over her self-identification. "I never considered it from the point of view of the parent," Harry remarked. "I mean, I know how hard it can be for the Lupins, but—"

"It's why Ran doesn't have a father," Draco said, and he looked sort of sad and thoughtful. "His father left when Ran was bitten."

Harry snorted again, this time in disgust. "What a jerk."

Draco gave him a very wry smile. "And you can see why Ran has been trying to keep the infamous Draco Malfoy away from his mother."

"I guess she didn't appreciate the effort as much as he'd hoped."

Draco almost looked like he would cry again. "She believes in me. She thinks I'm a good man, and that I've done well by her son. She thinks I'm doing an excellent job here."

"Just as I and half the readers of _The Quibbler_ have been telling you for months. And something you've known for at least a year, if you're being honest with yourself."

Draco smiled bitterly. "I'm not so good at that." The smile softened, and his gaze returned to the glass of liquid the colour of this Vianne woman's hair. "She makes it easier."

"Merlin. You really are in love with her, aren't you?"

"Let me put it this way. I have danced with women, flirted with women, and gone to bed with women. I have never before just held a woman and felt like my life had suddenly fallen into place. At least not before tonight. I mean," he pulled a face, "she actually didn't think less of me for crying all over her. I didn't think women like her existed."

"Oh, they do, though," Harry countered, and suddenly felt himself turning a little introspective, a little dreamy. His wife wanted to talk. His wife was just like Draco was describing, beautiful, wonderful, and somehow the completion of a part of him he hadn't known was missing before they'd first kissed. And she was making the first steps, after nearly nine months apart, to return to that happiness that they'd had together. Of course, he had to look into the fire itself for a reminder of his Ginny. Fiery hair, fiery temper, and fiery passion for what she held dear.

"If she's what she seems to be, Draco . . . I'm happy for you. You deserve it."

He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't, but I'll take it anyway. Thank you."

Harry smiled, feeling utterly relaxed, and sipped on his mead. After a minute, Draco followed suit. Tonight was a night to feel good about life and enjoy having hope for the first time in a while. The troubles that waited outside this room could just wait a few minutes longer.

Someone knocked on the door. Harry was startled, and wondered if he ought to retreat and pretend he wasn't here, just to head off anymore speculation about his friendship with his fellow professor. Of course, if whoever it was walked more than a few steps into the room, they'd find him trying to hide and that would be worse. So he just sat and tried to look unconcerned when Draco opened his door, muttering that it wasn't anyone from Gryffindor, or his Monitoring spell would have gone off.

It was Douglas Jarvis, the Ravenclaw Beater. They were both surprised to see him anywhere without Morgan Mann (who'd been his best friend since the train to Hogwarts their first year), but it was especially surprising to find him at Draco's door and so late in the evening.

"Douglas, get in here," Draco snapped, pulling the lean, good-looking fifth-year inside. "You know better than to go wandering around at night by yourself. Merlin's sake, boy, there are three students laying in the hospital wing right now."

"And two of them are friends of mine," the boy answered shakily. "I know. But I have to ask you, both of you, something." He didn't seem all that surprised to find Harry here. He must have been reading _Wandwork Weekly_. "And Morgan's acting— well."

Draco's face was incredibly sympathetic, and it looked to Harry like the other man had a good idea of why Douglas was here. Harry didn't have a clue. He didn't really know this boy or his friend Morgan as anything other than Quidditch players, good Quidditch players, and sometimes smart-mouthed troublemakers. When Draco shot Harry a meaningful, warning look, Harry decided that he was to keep his mouth shut for a few minutes.

Draco gestured his visitor into a seat and sat back down himself. "Is this about what people have been saying about Harry and I?"

The boy nodded reluctantly. Harry gritted his teeth and did not open his mouth, no matter how much he wanted to. Draco appeared to have this under control.

"It's not true, Douglas. Harry and I aren't like that."

"You aren't?"

Did the student seem disappointed? Harry was getting a distinctly uneasy feeling about where this conversation was headed.

"No. Harry's married, you know. And I have a woman in my life as well."

"Oh. Never mind, then." Douglas got up without looking up. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"Sit down, Douglas."

Surprised, the boy sat.

"I didn't say you couldn't talk to me, if you wanted to."

"But, but you're not—"

He looked sharply at Harry, who looked back steadily.

"I take it you and your friend Morgan are?" he queried calmly.

He shook his head. "No, of course not, we're—"

"Hey," Draco said quietly. "You don't have to lie to him. Does he, Harry?" he added in a firm voice.

"No," Harry responded, and took a gulp of mead that didn't go down quite right. He struggled manfully to keep from coughing on it.

"Thus far," Draco said, still addressing Harry, "I've been the only adult in the school who knows about their relationship. They've been very cautious. Only some of the students know." He looked back at Douglas sympathetically. "With the way people have been flinging insults around, with these rumours about me and Harry, I can understand why. Wizards haven't really gotten around to accepting the idea."

"Well, we _were_ just friends when we were younger. We only got together last year. Anyway, wizards are stuck in the Dark Ages," Douglas grumbled.

"Well, yeah, most of them," Draco agreed. "It makes a certain sense, though. If we wizards didn't marry witches and have magical babies, how would our world continue? The idea of gay wizards looks like a huge threat to our world."

Douglas looked at Draco in confusion and hurt. "But you . . . you've always been nice to us."

"I said it makes sense, not that I personally felt that way."

Harry finally found his voice and spoke up. He'd been too personally involved in this whole thing to really reason out an objective opinion on the matter, but he would never say anything hurtful while looking on the fresh-faced boy whose vulnerability was written in every line of his defensively tensed posture.

"After all, there's enough orphans running around right now that the world can afford it, right?" he said in a light tone, trying to show Douglas that he wasn't going to fly off the handle. At least not yet.

The joke seemed to put him more at ease. "I guess," he muttered. But he straightened up a little.

"Douglas, I'm just your teacher, all right?" Draco said. "I'm not going to say anything to you one way or the other. What I care about is that Hogwarts is your home nine months out of the year and that your well-being is my responsibility during that time. You make your own decisions, and you let me know if anyone tries to make them for you."

Douglas nodded soberly, and he stood up. "Thank you, sir," he said a bit roughly. Harry wondered where Draco's self-doubt came from; it certainly did not come from his students looking at him like he was their hero.

"Harry, would you take him back to Ravenclaw Tower before you go back to your rooms?"

Harry got up easily. "Of course." If he couldn't heal these kids after the attacks, stopping them from happening was the only way to fight it. "Draco . . . good luck."

"Yeah, you as well," Draco answered with a smile.

Harry could see the curiosity in Douglas' eyes as he escorted him back to his dormitories, but he stayed silent as they walked. Harry wondered if Draco's stance on this was the right one for him to take, too. He was just a teacher, not a priest or a counselor. He had little right to tell the boy how to live his life, only to ensure that he had one to live. His personal feelings on homosexuality quite aside, this boy was under his care and he'd rather have his trust than not.

"Why didn't Morgan want to come with you tonight?" he asked cautiously.

Douglas shrugged. "He's angry with me. For letting them get to me. He thinks I'm changing my mind or something. He won't even talk to me right now."

"I'm sorry that my being here has made things so hard on you."

Douglas shrugged again. "It probably would be anyway."

They halted outside the door to the Ravenclaw common room, and Harry fixed Douglas with a serious gaze.

"You're not going to get it from me, and I won't stand for anyone threatening you in any fashion here at this school. That's all I can promise."

Douglas smiled. "Thanks."

Then he turned and answered the riddle that would allow him access to his house. Harry sought out his own rooms and the comfort of seeing his children still sleeping safely in their beds.

Douglas sought out not his bed, but the bed in which Morgan was sleeping. He stood beside it and shook the other boy awake with his hand placed firmly over his mouth to keep him from making any noise and waking the other boys up.

"I went to see Professor Malfoy and Potter tonight," he whispered when he was sure Morgan was aware of his surroundings. "They're not gay."

"I told you it was just a stupid article," Morgan hissed, and he looked angry. Doug was really tired of having his best friend angry with him. "Now they'll write to our parents, and we'll both be in serious trouble."

"No, they won't. They both said we could tell them if anyone gives us a real problem."

"Oh," Morgan scowled. "You couldn't wait until morning to tell me that?"

"Look, I'm sick of this," Doug said much more loudly than he'd intended. One of their roommates rolled over and snuffled, and he quickly lowered his voice. "Are we friends or not?"

Morgan shrugged, and now he looked more miserable than angry. "If you still want to be."

"Of course I do, you stupid wanker. In fact, I was under the impression we were a bit more than that."

"So are you done letting them make you so afraid?"

Doug clenched his jaw and steeled his nerves. "Look, I know we haven't really gone very far with this. I mean, we've kissed," which still made him _blush_ of all things, "but I don't know where you're willing to go with this."

Morgan's eyes were wide as twin moons in the dark. "I really hope you're not asking to shag right now. I mean, first of all, our roommates can only put up with so much and I think this might put them past their limit. Second, if they tell anyone, our parents will have kittens. Third—"

"Shut up, Morgan," he hissed fiercely. "I am _not_ asking to shag. Merlin, I'm fifteen years old. I'm still wondering if I might end up with a girl after all. I was just asking if, for now, you're my boyfriend."

"Doug . . . well, yeah, if you want."

"If I told you that I'm afraid I'm going to end up in the hospital wing right beside Barry, and that I really wish you would just hold me for a minute, are you going to make fun of me, or are you going to do it?"

The confusion cleared from Morgan's face and was replaced by something that Doug had been craving badly. He grabbed Doug's hand and pulled him down onto the bed. He put his arms around his best friend, his boyfriend, whatever he was, and didn't bother saying anything else for a good long while. Life was confusing as hell, and more than a little scary, but at least there was this.


	24. Chapter 18: Christmas at Number Twelve

Chapter Eighteen

Christmas At Number Twelve

Ginny and the kids had already exchanged holiday greetings with the Simpsons and left the drawing room to get back to work on the biscuits they were making—with red and green frosting, like Charley had insisted on. This apparently was the opportunity Hermione had been waiting for.

"Draco _Malfoy_, Harry," she said simply, her flame-lit eyes narrowed and her never-quite-tamed hair flying around like part of the fire. "Even over here we've been hearing the rumours. What is going on?"

"We're both Hogwarts professors, Hermione. What am I supposed to do? What, you don't think I'm repairing my marriage while keeping a gay lover on the side?"

"No, don't be ridiculous," she said severely. "I just want to know what on earth you _are_ doing with him."

"Befriending him, I thought that was obvious."

"Yes, but _why_?"

"Hell, Hermione, I don't need this from you of all people. Because I'm lonely, all right? Ginny hasn't been around, and Draco has. I haven't had any close friends since you and Remus moved to Canada."

"So it's true that he spends time with your children, all of that?"

"Hermione," he said firmly, "you used to be the one telling _me_ to lay off him."

"Well, then you turned out to be right about him, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. So why can't I be right about him now?"

Hermione didn't answer that. She looked not upset, but troubled. That was Hermione's way, always. She rarely lashed out with emotion, but she would get this look of worry with her forehead wrinkled that had always made Harry start trying to defend himself.

"I can talk to him about things, you know? It's nice to have another guy around."

Now Hermione's face became downright dark (which shouldn't really have been possible in a firecall, but she managed). "He's not _Ron_, Harry."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He felt shock, and anger, and bone-deep grief all at the same moment, and he hardly knew which one to focus on.

"Hermione . . ." he said weakly.

"Are you trying to replace him?"

"No, I'm not, and how dare you?" Harry shouted, the anger rising to the forefront. "I could say the same thing about Jonah, but you don't hear me accusing you of marrying him to replace Ron!"

Hermione's face looked just as shocked as his had, a moment ago. "Harry, that's not fair," she began.

This was _not_ a conversation he wanted to have. She'd upset him, he'd upset her, and it shouldn't be like this. "Hermione. It's Christmas. And you're still my friend, like a sister to me. I don't want to argue at all, and I really don't want us trying to hurt each other's feelings. Least of all do I want to use Ron to do it. Let's . . . let's just agree that while Ron is irreplaceable, we're still human and we had to move on. We both know that."

She nodded. "Yes . . . we moved on."

Harry knew it made sense that Hermione struggled with the concept of the man he'd chosen as friend. This man's father had been responsible for the death of the boy they missed so badly, even eight years later. The father of her first-born child. And Hermione could hardly be expected to know just how old this whole thing was getting, when she'd only heard rumours of what _Wandwork Weekly_ and Rosemary Carthy were doing. Still, he was getting awfully goddamn tired of justifying himself to people. Wasn't Draco doing enough to justify it by his actions? He still visited the Gryffindor table at mealtimes to make sure Letty Burns was getting enough to eat! Why was it so hard to admit that he was doing well?

He said none of this to Hermione. He had committed himself, the moment he gathered up the kids to head home, to not getting into any fights during the holidays. He'd really meant that commitment for Ginny, but Hermione merited inclusion.

"I hope you and your family are having a nice Christmas, Hermione."

She nodded. "We are. Thank you."

"I wish you were here, you know. I wish you were working on this Nightmare Curse situation with me."

"Harry, you've called me up to consult me three times, and I haven't been able to do a thing. It's definitely something this person invented themselves and I can't unravel it any better than you can."

"Oh, I know that. I just always felt better when I had you on the case."

"Thanks, Harry," she said, sounding genuinely touched. "My work's a little more political these days, but I do sometimes miss the adventure."

"Ha. Adventure."

"Well, not the 'Death Eaters hunting me' kind. Nor the 'incredibly boring, trekking across the country looking for unidentified objects' kind. Just the normal, 'maybe Harry's going to snuff it if I don't figure this out' kind."

"Aw, glad to know my life means so much to you."

Hermione laughed, and her head turned like her attention was being called away. "I have to go, we're getting ready to open presents."

Presents here had been opened, played with, and discarded already, but of course it was quite a bit earlier over there.

"All right, Hermione. It was good hearing from you."

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"You as well."

Then she was gone, and Harry got up with a groan. "I swear you age faster than the rest of me," he said sternly to his knees.

"You know, Dad, I hear that talking to yourself is a sign of insanity," Matt said, suddenly appearing in the drawing room doorway.

"I wasn't talking to myself. I was scolding my kneecaps."

"Oh, well, you're fine, then."

Harry laughed and ruffled Matt's hair. "God, your hair is a mess. When was the last time you cut it?"

Matt shrugged. "Um . . ."

"I tend to forget these things when your mother doesn't remind me," Harry sighed. He definitely had not taken Matt to get a hair cut since summer. The sandy-brown mop was almost long enough to put in a ponytail, and Harry was suddenly very glad that Matt's schedule permitted him to be at the Burrow so infrequently. Grandma Weasley would have a fit. "Oh, no, how long is your brother's?" he asked with wide eyes.

"Mum gave him a haircut last month," Matt said, his face amused.

Harry was maybe the tiniest bit ashamed of himself. "I haven't been all here, have I? I'm sorry."

Matt's amusement vanished. "It's okay. We all get it. We're all . . ." his voice trailed away, and his face twisted with sadness.

Harry drew Matt in and hugged him, holding his head close and suddenly straining not to let his emotions make him crush the boy. "This has been so hard on you. You haven't been acting like yourself, and I've been so busy I haven't been there for you enough. Oh, Matt."

Matt was crying, and holding onto Harry desperately. "Dad, I've been so messed up. Bear and Basil try to look after me, but I haven't been myself in so long. Everything feels wrong, all the time. They say it's like I'm not there."

"Matt, son, I'm so sorry," Harry choked out. He hadn't realized how rough this had been on him. He cradled his head and stroked his son's back. "Shhh."

"Something's wrong with me, Dad, I just can't concentrate on anything anymore. I do my homework, but I barely even remember what classes I'm in. Bear has to force me to eat."

"Matt, you're okay," Harry said with real alarm, hugging him closer as Matt's sobs got harder. Still holding him, he lowered them to the floor, slowly kneeling. Matt was much too big for his lap, but Harry did his best. "Matt, shhh. It's okay, you're all right."

"I'm _not_," Matt sobbed. "I don't feel right."

"I know you don't, son. I don't, either. Nothing's wrong with you. You're depressed, Matt, that's all. It's been a really hard year for you, for all of us. When you're sad and angry for so long, it makes you want to shut yourself away because it's exhausting. It's a hard thing, but that's all it is. It doesn't mean anything is wrong with you, okay?"

Matt's hands gripped into Harry's shirt, like he was clinging to him for dear life.

"Matt, do you understand?"

"Yes," he choked.

Harry didn't try to cheer Matt up or stop him from crying. After the months he'd spent acting sullen and then silent, this was the best thing for him. He was finally letting it all out, voicing the concerns he'd had. Harry just held him tight and let him cry. After all the distance that had grown between them, this might be the only way to get close to him again.

He didn't know how long Ginny stood in the doorway. It might have been only a second, it might have been the length of their conversation. He didn't see her until she left the doorway to get down on her knees and take Matt from his arms. Matt didn't realize it was her, at first, and he tried to pull away and stay with Harry. When his reddened eyes recognized her, he threw himself on her and began crying anew.

"Mum, I'm so glad you're here," he managed to say.

"I'm glad, too, Matt," she said softly. She held him close and stroked his back the way Harry had been doing. Harry was content to sit and watch the two of them. Ginny had hardly seen Matt since she'd walked out last spring, and she'd admitted to Harry last night how afraid she was that Matt wouldn't want anything from her.

"I'm ruining Christmas," Matt muttered when his tears had quieted enough to speak.

Ginny chuckled. "I hardly think a boy wizard is enough to destroy an ancient tradition."

He gave his best effort at laughing, but it sounded very much like a hiccup. "I'm ruining _our_ Christmas."

"No, you're not."

"I am. I wanted today to be perfect for everybody."

"This is perfect," Ginny assured him. "This is exactly what I wanted."

"You wanted my snot all over your shirt?"

Ginny kissed his hair. "I wanted you to let me hold you," she whispered. "I've been a really terrible mother, and I was afraid you wouldn't want me back."

Matt sucked in a wretched, hiccupping breath. "Let me up."

Ginny let go, and Matt sat up. He looked directly at her with eyes so swollen that Harry wondered how the boy could even see out of them. He put one hand on her knee, and his other on Harry's knee.

"I already lost my parents once. I don't want to do it again."

With that, Ginny started to cry. "You won't, Matt. You won't lose us. Oh, Merlin, I am so sorry. What have I done? What have I done to you?"

Crash and Charley, formerly busy with flinging cookie dough at each other, grew curious and arrived in the drawing room just in time to see Ginny burst into tears. Both of them promptly did the same, and rushed forward. Charley attached herself to Ginny's back like a barnacle, but Sirius acted with his usual impossibly compassionate attitude toward other's pain. He put his arms around Ginny's neck and nuzzled his face into her hair.

"Don't cry, Mum," he said softly through his own tears. "It's okay, you're home now. We'll take care of you."

Somehow, all five of them ended up in one huge mass of embracing arms and cleansing tears. They all cried together until they were too tired to move, and they simply lay in a big heap on the floor, with Charley dozing on Harry's chest and Ginny's head laying in Sirius' lap, while Matt sat recovering with his arm over his brother's shoulders. Harry used a Summoning spell on the single dozen cookies they'd actually managed to bake and they munched on them and relaxed in front of the fire. By some unspoken consent, none of them left the room. It was as if they were under an enchantment that would be broken if they so much as went to the bathroom.

All three kids eventually fell asleep, chattering quietly about their Christmas presents. Harry and Ginny watched them sleep until the fire started dying, and the mood has dissipated somewhat. They took all three children to bed, certain that the exhausting day would cause them to sleep all the way through the night that had fallen while they shared the red-and-green-frosted biscuits. Then they both decided they needed to bathe, considering that the younger two kids had been covered in dough when they joined the family dogpile.

"Let's talk when we've both gotten changed, all right?" Ginny suggested.

Harry nodded. "Yes, I'd say it's about time."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hair still damp but much cleaner, and a nice warm robe on, Ginny made sure the dishes clattered while she straightened up the kitchen. She wanted Harry to know where she was. He was taking his time, no doubt preparing what he wanted to say. She already knew what needed to be said, what she wanted. She hoped he was ready to hear it. To really listen this time. And to feel comfortable about answering. Today with the kids had already been a huge step forward, in her mind. She felt like they were back on solid footing with each other after the long absence. Like they weren't strangers tonight, but still partners.

She made a pot of tea and fixed some sandwiches. Christmas dinner had been mostly prepared when Hermione had called, but they hadn't gotten around to eating it, and she was hungry. She was happy that she even felt like eating; it happened so seldom. And she had _definitely_ noticed how thin Harry was becoming. He was almost back to being scrawny as he'd been as a teenager.

"Hey," her husband said softly as he entered.

"Hey, yourself."

"You didn't have to do this."

"Are you joking? I'm starved."

"Oh," he said with a smile. "Well, then." He'd gotten dressed again, Ginny noted, and saw him taking note of her dressing robe. He gave her a sheepish look. "Is any of it for me?"

She gave him a superior look and handed over a sandwich made with the ham she'd baked and lettuce from the salad Matt had tossed. He chuckled at her look and bit into it with obvious delight. She wolfed hers down quickly. She sat down at the kitchen table where she'd laid out the things for tea, including the untouched loaf of bread Harry had picked up from the market for dinner, with butter and jam. She poured out the tea while Harry buttered and slathered strawberries on two slices of bread. They both fixed the tea to their liking and munched on the bread while they waited for the cups to cool.

"Do you want to start, or shall I?" Harry asked soberly.

Ginny picked up her teacup. "You start." _And please, just be real with me. Be open and honest about it all._

"I'm— Merlin, I've apologised so many times today I'm not sure I have the strength for another one."

Ginny breathed in the steam rising from her cup. "You've already apologized _and_ promised to do better, remember?"

"Oh, good, I planned ahead," he said with a little smile. He popped the last of the bread into his mouth, and washed down the last bite with his first sip of tea. "I'm starting to understand how frustrating I've been for you. Please believe that I didn't really know how stupid I am. I never tried to hurt you deliberately. Never."

Ginny nodded her acceptance of that while she chewed her last mouthful of bread. She absently pushed the crumbs that had fallen onto the table into a little pile.

"You kept trying to tell me what was wrong, and I wasn't listening. I realize that. I'm sorry for that. I just . . . still have some growing up to do, I guess. Maybe twenty-six isn't as old as it used to seem when I wasn't sure I'd make it to twenty."

Ginny's tears were all used up for the day, but she could feel her eyes trying to produce some again. It still hurt to think of how he'd accepted the possibility of death in an epic struggle when most people his age had nothing more to worry about than when their facial hair would fill in.

"It's not an excuse for the way I ignored you, not by any means. I just . . . well, I'm _trying_ to explain myself. I think the reason I never do is just because I'm rubbish at it."

Ginny smiled at him to encourage him. He was trying so hard.

"I've always tried to protect you, Ginny. I wanted more than anything for you to never go through some of the things I did. So I kept that part of myself shut away from you. I thought it was the right thing to do, no matter what you said."

"Are you listening now, Harry? Can you actually consider the possibility when I say that I want you to share that part of yourself, even that part?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "If that's what you want."

"Harry, listen," she said, and set her cup down on the table with a thump. "It's not what I want. It's the way it should be. That's what marriage _is_, Harry. We're supposed to be so close that our souls connect. It can never be that way between us unless you're willing to let me have your whole soul."

"But Ginny . . ." His eyes glittered with tears—he, apparently, wasn't all out for the day. "That part isn't very good. It's _dark_ in there."

Ginny got up and came around the table and held his head against her chest. "I know that. And I'm sorry for all the things you went through that made it that way."

"And you want me to share that with you?"

"Yes, I do."

Harry shuddered against her, and put his arms around her waist. "Ginny, I killed a man."

"You killed Voldemort, Harry."

"His name was Tom Riddle."

"I know that."

"His mother's name was Merope, and she died giving birth to him. Hogwarts was his home just the way it was for me. He had a grandfather and an uncle, too, and he wanted to become a professor at the school someday."

Now Ginny was silent. It was not only that she did not know what she could say in response, it was that she was afraid her speaking would cause Harry to stop.

"I knew all that about him, and I still killed him. There wasn't any other way, but I killed a man, and that sits inside that dark part of me that I never wanted you to see. I've hurt people, and watched others hurt people. I've watched them die . . ." He squeezed his arms around her, and he sighed. "It's all there, inside of me. I never thought you'd _want_ that part of me."

"I told you I did."

He leaned back to look into her eyes. "I'm not so different from Draco Malfoy, in that part," he said bitterly.

She bit her lip. "I was wrong about him."

He laid his head against her again. "You really believe that?"

"I do. Enough to admit that maybe there's a part of you that's not so different from a part of him. I can say that because I know that it's a very tiny part of you now, and it doesn't speak for the whole of you. There's a little bit of darkness inside everyone. You, more than most, have always and ever fought to keep it small. To act on the much greater part of your soul that's so good. I fell in love with every part of you, Harry Potter, because I knew that you recognized the darkness and set it aside in favour of the light. You always will."

"You told me that you aren't in love with me anymore, Ginny."

"I remember."

"But even so, do you _love_ me?"

"More than anything, Harry."

"I could make you fall in love with me again." His face was still pressed against her, but he sounded very sleepy.

"I daresay you could," she said with a soft smile. "Especially if you keep it up with this talk about your feelings."

Harry pulled back from her and stood up. She smiled again when she saw that he was indeed quite sleepy. He pulled her against him, now, reversing their roles.

"I love you, Ginny. You are my whole world. You are my Sunshine. My life is awful without you in it. I will do whatever it takes to make you fall in love with me again."

She held onto his shoulders and realized her eyes hadn't dried up after all. "Well, you're off to a good start," she muttered.

"Did you have anything you wanted to say to me?"

"Harry, we're both exhausted, and we have a whole week. It can wait."

"I don't want to go to bed," he said, sounding just like Crash when he was tired. "I don't want to lose this."

"You won't, I promise. I'll still be here in the morning. And all day. And the day after that, and then the next one, and so forth."

"For a week."

"No," she said carefully. She really didn't think he would rest unless she gave him some reassurance, so she said some of the things she'd wanted to say, ignoring how tired they both were. "I want to stay."

"You mean . . .?"

"I want to give up the flat and move back in."

"Oh, god, Ginny," he said fervently, and renewed his grip on her. "You really want us to be together again?"

"Harry, just a second," she said softly, not wanting to hurt him but knowing he'd come to the realization in a few moments anyway. "I'll be here, but you won't."

"What do you mean, of course I will!"

"You've got to go back to school, Harry. You've got a job to do, McGonagall's counting on you."

"But Ginny—"

"So are Dan, and the Knowles, and the Wravens," she reminded him.

"Oh . . ."

"You need to go back."

"Ginny, none of that is as important to me as you are," he said, pushing her back a little so he could look in her eyes. "If you're going to be here, I want to be where you are. No matter what."

She gave him a sad smile and leaned against him again. "I know that. I also know what kind of person you are, Harry. I won't have you choosing between me and all those people who need your help. You've got a saving people thing, remember? I want you to stay there and be a good professor, and help those boys. Your poor brain would explode if you had to leave them behind to prove how much you love me."

"But I would do it."

"You're no good to me with your head all caved in. You don't need to prove how much you love me, I already know that. What you have to prove is that you can do it properly. And you're not the only one. I have a lot of things to apologise for, a lot of things I need to work on. We'll get to all of that tomorrow. I'm willing to try, Harry. I want us to be together again. I want us to be husband and wife, and father and mother. But it's going to take hard work and time, and you might as well save the world from yet another crisis in the meantime."

"All right, Ginny," he said reluctantly. "If that's what you want."

"Harry, I love you. I'm so, so sorry for the way I've acted, the way I've let you all down. What I want is to make that right. But I love you too much to take you away from your calling in life, and that's what I'd be doing by bringing you back here right now. You and I can be patient. If we love each other, we can make this work."

"We do. We love each other. We'll make it work. Honestly, Ginny, it will give me so much hope just to know that you're here even if I'm not." He frowned abruptly. "What about the kids?"

"They're doing just fine with you. I've always wanted them to stay with you, you know that."

"Yes, but . . . You saw how they were with you today. They think everything's fixed now. They think we're all going to be together again right away."

"We'll talk about it later. Maybe we should let them decide. It'll only be for a little while longer, until you can catch this Nightmare Curse guy. Once you do that, we'll all be back home."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. "Yeah, let's talk about it later," he said. "I have to sleep. I can't even keep my eyes open."

"All right. Good night, Harry."

"Night, Sunshine."

She turned and started clearing up the hardly-touched tea. Harry grabbed her gently by the wrist.

"It'll wait for the morning. Get some sleep."

She looked at him, hovering on the verge of opening her mouth, for what seemed like quite a long time. He released her wrist, but didn't say anything, waiting for her. She took a very deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Let's go to bed, then," she said softly, and slipped her hand into his.

"You mean the same bed?" he blurted out.

She smiled. "I don't really care for Regulus' old room, even with the renovations we did. It was sort of lonely last night."

Harry didn't say anything else, just closed his grip on her hand and led her upstairs. He slowly undressed while she laid her robe over the back of a chair. Their bedroom, unused for months, was horribly dusty, but at least Harry had shaken out the blankets before sleeping last night. He just stood and looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, illuminated by the candle lit in the wall sconce behind him. She smiled and patted the turned-down blanket beside her.

"Come on, I'm tired, and I can't sleep with you staring at me."

Looking like he was entranced, he slowly came to the bed and slid under the blanket. She followed suit.

"Brrr, it's cold in here."

Harry immediately started getting up to get his wand where he'd left it on the daybed under their window. She held his arm. He looked at her.

"Don't get up, you'll let all the cold air in," she said. She slid a little closer to him. "I'm sure if we just cuddle up, it'll be warm enough."

A smile of pure joy spread over his face, and his hand reached up to caress her cheek. It made Ginny sad, in a way. She truly hadn't realized the power his love for her gave her, and how willing he was to simply forgive what she'd done. As much as she'd hurt him, as much as she'd royally screwed up, he lit up like a kid in a sweet shop just because she wanted to sleep beside him. She felt frightened by it. She had an overwhelmingly precious power in her hands, and she'd already used it badly. She was afraid she'd do it again.

Then she let her husband put his arms around her and pull her against him, and she closed her eyes. Harry was already asleep, the second his head hit the pillow, and she was mere moments from it. She thought she could feel the hole through her filling in, just a little bit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ginny's explanation of her own actions the next day was hard on all of them. When she explained that she felt inadequate as a mother, the younger two children looked shocked that there would even be a question, and protested vehemently. Matt said nothing. With a brittle look, he grabbed her hand and held it like he meant to keep her from so much as leaving his sight ever again.

Later, with Harry, was harder. She told him she felt she was not good enough for him, and that she'd left so he could find someone more worthy of his love. Harry didn't tell her how silly she was for feeling that way, he only promised to do better by her so she'd never doubt her place in his life again. That proof of the change in him, as much as the reassurance, was what brought her to tears. She cried so hard that Harry wanted to take her to St. Mungo's, but she wouldn't go. She didn't want to be out of his arms or the safety of her home for a moment.

They spent the rest of the day in a snowball fight with the kids. They decided that Sirius and Charley would come back home with Ginny, because the school was simply too dangerous right now. They didn't like it when they were told that they wouldn't see Daddy much for a little while, but they were happy about seeing Mummy more often. Matt was going back to school, but he was so much more cheerful that it was like they were sending back a different student.

At the end of their holiday, when Ginny had to go back to work and Harry and Matt were going back to Hogwarts, they all cried again—all except Harry. He took her face in his hands and promised that he would end the threat at the school and be home with her soon.

"I know you will," she said, taking one of his hands and kissing the palm. "We'll always come back to each other, Harry, no matter what separates us."

"Yes. I can't live without sunlight, and I hear you've got this hero-addiction problem . . ."

And they kissed for the first time since April. It was quite a good kiss.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_So . . . longest chapter EVER, but I'm pleased with it. Just by the way, I've started outlining a couple of new stories. One will be set in this world, with these characters, and it will be quite a bit shorter, probably about five good-sized chapters. The other one is going to be a series of reflections and narrations in the first person about events in their life, and while it will be in the Harry Potter category, it won't be part of the "Save Me"/"Brothers & Sons" world. And no, I'm not going to tell you what either one of them are about yet!_

_Oh, and on a completely unrelated note: do not consume 3 shots of espresso after 7 pm. Not if you were planning on sleeping that night for some reason like you have work the next morning. :-P_

_Cheers!_

_Faren_


	25. Chapter 19: Happy New Year

Chapter Nineteen

Happy New Year

Most of the Edwards' guests were old friends of theirs, and most of them had been at the New Year's party last year. Therefore, Draco was remembered by and greeted as Mr. Stevens by quite a lot of people whose names he himself did not remember. One particular man seemed to remember him very well, and Draco was able to produce his name by no great strain—the resemblance to his other acquaintance by that name was striking.

"Mr. Stevens, good to see you again."

"You as well, Mr. Binns," he replied, shaking the hand of the palest spectre of a man he had ever seen. And quite possibly the dullest, apart from the other Binns.

"Forgive me if I can't remember. You're a teacher, aren't you?"

"I am." The most convenient lie for his occupation was hardly a lie at all. "I teach chemistry at a school for the gifted."

"Oh," said a woman he didn't remember from last year, by his elbow. "I wondered how you knew the Edwards. Do you teach their grandson?"

"Yes." _When he lets me_. "Drew Stevens, miss."

She introduced herself, but the glare of the sparkling sequins on her dress was enough to make him desperate to escape. He had but the one eye to assault, after all. He wondered with grim amusement when someone would get too curious to worry about the inappropriateness of the question and just ask. Accident in the lab, the lie was ready-made and perfectly suitable. However, all the dissembling was giving him a headache. He hadn't had to lie about himself like this in months. Not to mention that he hadn't had to stand up and mingle for this long since last year, and last year, he'd had a cane to lean on that also helpfully provided a good excuse to sit down. His knee was sending urgent signals that the party was over as far as it was concerned. He wasn't sure how much longer he could ignore it.

Then Vianne reappeared from wherever she'd got to and took possession of him from the lady of the dazzling sequins. "There's someone you really must meet," she said, pulling him away from the glare. "So sorry, dear," she called over her shoulder to the other woman.

He almost groaned, but meekly followed her to the next introduction. "Thank Merlin for conservative gowns," he murmured, eyeing her like a starving man eyes a roast beef as she led him across the room. She led him to a seat at the edge of the little dance floor, grabbing two glasses of sparkling water on the way, and pushed him into it.

"Draco Malfoy, meet Moment of Rest," she murmured too low for anyone else to hear her, sitting next to him and handing him a glass.

He laughed softly, delighted by her yet again, and let his fingers brush over hers as he took the water. It would be impolite to flirt with her as outrageously as he'd like, not to mention completely improper that this daughter of wealth had attached herself to a schoolteacher. Draco was from an older and wealthier family than anyone else in this room, of course, but since his family technically didn't exist in their world and the manor house was the only thing left of all that . . . Well, he had Vianne, so he was still better off than all the other guests.

"I'm not sure your parents are thrilled to have me back," he said softly. "Your mother's been giving me some truly dirty looks."

"She'll get over it," Vianne smiled. "My father is fairly impressed with you, actually. It took me two days to explain exactly who you are and why you excited so much controversy, and all he had to say at the end of it was, 'Why, he's practically nobility!' He likes you."

"I hope you mentioned that I really am just a dirt-poor teacher at his grandson's school."

She smiled and for a moment he was distracted by the press of her lips against the rim of her glass.

"He thinks almost as much of you as I do."

Draco allowed that to sink in and add to the warm bubble of happiness that was expanding through him. He had once again spent Christmas at Hogwarts with the students who were staying through the holiday, looking forward eagerly to the following week and the New Year's party with Vianne's family. He'd even sort of hoped that there'd be another attack in the meantime, as much to give him something to do until New Year's as because it would really narrow down the list of suspects. Of course, when Vianne had invited him, she had promised that she'd speak with Ran and that Ran would be the picture of civility this evening. Ran had apparently interpreted that to mean that he should be nowhere in sight. He was somewhere in the house, of course, but definitely avoiding Draco.

He hadn't realized he was so deep in his thoughts until Vianne removed his nearly empty glass from his hands and pulled him to his feet. His knee complained that it was perfectly happy with arrangements, thanks very much, but Draco was only too happy to comply with whatever wishes Vianne might have. She led him out onto the dance floor, where only one other couple was currently occupied. Draco noticed eyes on them—it was hard to miss, nearly everyone in the room turned to watch—and smiled. His knee might ache, but it was more limber than it had been in years. They were all watching with the idea that a gimpy secondary school teacher was going to be a disaster on the dance floor. Well, he was a gimpy secondary school teacher who had at one time been the pampered heir of an important and powerful pureblood family, and if there was anything he knew how to do, it was dance.

There were several excited murmurs at the edge of his hearing as he led Vianne gracefully through steps she didn't really know, a dance very common at parties he'd attended in his youth. She kept up amazingly well, and the smile on her face was very rewarding as he dipped her low and raised her again in one smooth movement. It wasn't a complicated or intricate dance, but it was one you didn't undertake unless you knew what you were doing. He was probably blowing his Drew Stevens cover for the Muggles, but he honestly didn't care. He was dancing with his girlfriend.

As the song came to a close, and he led a happy Vianne off the floor, he saw Ran watching them from a corner with an inscrutable look. Someone pulled Vianne away from him for some reason, and Draco took the opportunity to nab Ran while he could. He fixed Ran with a look that told him not to move, his annoyed-professor-who's-about-to-take-points-from-your-House look, and Ran didn't so much as twitch. Draco was limping rather badly at this point, and it took him forever and day to actually reach Ran, but the boy stood still and waited for him. Just as Draco got there, another old friend of the family swooped in.

"Randolph, there you are!" the top-heavy woman gushed. "Why, look at you. You look more grown up every time I see you!"

Ran's growth spurt was one of the hazards of his condition. At thirteen, he was nearing six feet tall and showing no signs of letting up, not to mention full of rangy muscle that you didn't normally see on a kid still going through puberty. Merlin, the boy was shaving already. The woman twittered about his height for a moment, and Ran did his best to look interested in her presence, for his family's sake. He was a truly responsible kid, Draco thought, not for the first time. He was one of the very few teenagers in the world who actually understood that his behavior had consequences beyond his personal sphere. After a moment of polite but distant responses, the woman noticed Draco trying to look unobtrusive while he waited, and quickly bowed out.

Draco took the last few steps to his target, and his knee chose that moment to give out. He nearly fell, but Ran reached forward and caught him quickly, without thinking, his natural reaction after spending so much time at the side of Drew Stevens last year. He released Draco with a sullen look, but Draco grabbed hold of him in turn.

"You and I need to talk," he murmured, and steered Ran firmly away from the party and to a quieter part of the house. Ran didn't fight him, thankfully, but again, he was an amazingly mature boy. As soon as he had him alone, Draco dropped into a chair and clutched his knee. Unbidden, he actually made a whimpering noise. He hadn't been so tempted to start downing potions in a long time, and he shut his eyes tightly, willing the pain and frustration into the back of his mind.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" Ran asked, actual compassion in his voice for the first time in months. "Mum keeps some—"

"No," he interrupted, too strongly. He squeezed his eyes closed even tighter and waited for the moment to pass. He finally forced his thoughts into order, and opened his eyes with a sigh. Ran was looking at him with a deep frown.

"Why don't you have your cane anymore, sir?"

"Why are you calling me 'sir'?" Draco countered. "You stopped doing that a long time ago."

Ran looked away. "I made the mistake of thinking we were better friends than we really were," he said in a careful, measured voice. "I know better now."

"Ran, what are you talking about?"

"I guess I just deluded myself into thinking I meant more to you than I really did. Don't worry about it, it was my fault. I've figured it out now."

Draco stared at him, feeling completely lost. "Ran, we were friends. I could have gotten in serious trouble for favouring you so much. You were practically the entire reason I kept teaching instead of throwing myself off a tower my first few months. I've been really hurt that you stopped talking to me. What in Salazar's name makes you think you're not important to me?"

Ran's face had gotten more and more confused while Draco spoke, but when he asked the question, Ran's mouth suddenly twisted in an honest-to-God snarl.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me, then?"

"Tell— what?"

"You lied to me, just like you did with everyone else! You didn't tell me who you were! I _thought_ you trusted me!"

Draco was stunned. That was what this was all about? He felt suddenly weak. "Ran . . . all this time I thought you hated me because of who I am . . . I thought I disgusted you or something." He shook his head slowly. "You're upset because I didn't tell you sooner?" He laughed in disbelief. "Merlin, Ran, of course I trust you. Think about everything we did together. In case you don't remember, I was risking my life to spend time with you, back when you let me do it. God, you're the best kid I know, and I shared more of myself with you than anyone else."

Ran's hands were fists at his sides. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again, much more quietly.

Draco sighed shakily. "I was trying to convince myself that if I pretended to be someone else long enough and completely enough, I'd actually become them. It wasn't that I couldn't trust you with a secret. It's just that . . . I really wanted to be somebody else. I was afraid of what you'd think of me if you knew who I was. I didn't want to lose your friendship."

"You mean . . . you were trying to really be Drew Stevens? It wasn't just because you couldn't use your real name?"

Draco shrugged. "In case you don't pay attention to the stories, I'm kind of the biggest bastard in wizarding Britain. They don't even have to exaggerate, I really did do some incredibly awful things a few years ago. There's a lot of people who don't much care for me. Including me. _Especially _me."

"But . . . you're not a bad guy," Ran said in confusion. "You're really nice, even."

Draco tried to smile, but his mouth felt too weary to pull it off. "I try to be. Now. I've tried very hard to escape who I really am. Ran, the stories are true. I did kill all those people. I killed your friend Matt's real parents and nearly killed him. I am a nasty piece of work."

"Oh, horseshit," Ran said impatiently. Draco blinked. "You are not, either. You're the best person at the whole school, and all the people who _should_ hate you love you instead. You and Harry Potter are like, best friends now, and Matt talks to you all the time. You can't possibly actually think you're a bad person."

"Well, I . . ."

Ran rolled his eyes. "You seriously didn't tell me because you thought I'd suddenly forget how great you've been to me and think you were a murderous lunatic?"

"Um, I used to _be_ a murderous lunatic . . ."

"Yeah, well, you're not anymore, so stop being so stupid," Ran snapped at him. "I can't believe I thought it was because you didn't trust me. I should have known it's just because you're an idiot."

Draco blinked rapidly. He really hadn't pictured the conversation going this way. In fact, he'd pretty much just planned to beg Ran to give him a chance to prove himself.

"I just have one question," Ran said, merciless in the face of Draco's emotional struggle. "Are you enough of an idiot to hurt my mother?"

"Hell, no," Draco said loudly. "I don't deserve a woman who's half of what your mother is, but if she wants me, I'm not going to argue. I'm going to work like a house elf to be good enough for her, for however long she puts up with me."

Ran seemed to be blinking a lot, too. "You won't leave her?"

"She will have to chase me away with horrible hexes," Draco answered. "I'm not going anywhere unless she tells me to. And even then, I'll be around for you until _you_ tell me to go."

"Really?" Ran said, and the nearly-six-foot young man sounded just like a little boy.

Draco stood up and grabbed him into an embrace. "I promise, Ran. I'm not going anywhere."

"Shouldn't you be sitting down?" Ran muttered in a thick voice.

"To hell with my stupid leg. I'll have Madam Pomfrey build a new one again."

Ran allowed that for only a second before pushing Draco back into his seat. "Just sit down. Merlin, you really are dumb."

"You have no idea. I never even finished school."

Ran laughed. "How do you teach the seventh-year class?"

Draco sighed. "Well, I guess I can trust you with my secrets. I don't. We just sit around and play Exploding Snap."

"Funny how they all got their NEWTS last year, then."

"Yeah, couldn't tell you how that happened."

"Well, we try not to expect too much from you."

This was exactly what he'd been missing. This comfortable banter was just the way things used to be between them. Now he finally had it back, this strange half-mentorship and half-friendship that had saved him last year, and the rest of his worries seemed awfully far away.


	26. Article 6

_The Quibbler_ Editorials

_Rita Skeeter Returns_

_And she's still an evil hag_

_By The Harpy_

Yes, faithful readers, you got the name right— Rita Skeeter has left the lofty perch of biographer to the wizarding stars and returned to realm of mere mortals. By employing her own trusty fact-gathering method of snooping, I have established that the mysterious editor of the gossip rag _Wandwork Weekly_ is none other than Ms. Skeeter. You might remember her as the owner of the acidic pen that reported so maliciously on the activities of Harry Potter during his school years, and the author of the atrocious book following the death of Albus Dumbledore. Now she has added editor of a hack magazine to her controversial resumé. Isn't it nice to see that the woman who made destroying the reputations of decent wizards into an art form hasn't disappeared forever?

If you answered that question, "Yes," just go hex yourself into oblivion and spare me the effort. Rita Skeeter is nothing more than a gossip hound with an inexplicable need to ruin other people's happiness, and that is all she has ever been. Now she has taken it upon herself to oversee the work of others just like her. I ask you, readers, why? Perhaps the question Rosemary Carthy ought to bring to esteemed Healer Warbeck Lackwit is this: what fuels the desire she and her editor have to pry into the private business of decent people and invent facts where the real ones aren't juicy enough? Perhaps Healer Whack-off can tell us why these two women seem to crave dysfunction even when none exists?

I assume, based on the first issue of the magazine, that _Wandwork Weekly_ was originally intended to be a legitimate publication. I am appalled that a woman with Skeeter's reputation was hired to run anything legitimate, and frankly I'm astounded she and Carthy haven't been sacked. They have destroyed with their lies and gossip any chance _Wandwork_ had of being taken seriously, and every minute they continue their employment is a minute longer that they are being paid to spread hatred across our world. Why should we allow that kind of poison into a society that relies on us to preserve it? A boycott is not enough. I call on the owner of _Wandwork Weekly_, an entity even more suspiciously mysterious than its editor was, to remove the source of the problem. This can take the form of the two women with such overblown opinions of themselves, or you can go straight to the root and pull the magazine. Either way, show some self-respect, even if you have none for the people you have allowed to be tormented by your employees.


	27. Chapter 20: Survival of the Fittest

Chapter Twenty

Survival of the Fittest

Rosemary read The Harpy's editorial in _The Quibbler_ three times before she made her decision. She liked to take risks in her writing, but never really with her career. A bad move in one piece could be retracted the next week, and the hype over the whole thing could actually build her reputation. She would never allow anything to actually touch her future in the business. Therefore, she read through the whole issue of _The Quibbler_ carefully, and paid special attention to The Harpy. This person was a regular contributer to the magazine, and the subscribers really seemed to listen to her.

Rosemary was finally coming to realize that the wizarding world was not ready for a tabloid. She was very good at what she did, but there was nothing she could do if no one wanted to read it. A little spice and flavour had been all well and good for them, but the articles about Potter and Malfoy had been really toeing the line. The article speculating on the nature of their relationship had gone over the line, without Rosemary realizing that it would until it was too late. It didn't make any sense to her; the Muggle world didn't get nearly so fussed over that sort of thing. It was exciting gossip to her, but that article had sparked a firestorm of consternation from the entire wizarding world. They simply couldn't contemplate homosexuality, and she wished she'd realized that a little sooner. "In the Closet" had put her dangerously close to ruin.

She was in the office, but Rita wasn't. Rita was on a temporary hiatus. It was pointless for her to even come into work at this point. They were flooded with hate mail, Howlers, packets of various painful potions that would explode when opened . . . Rita was staying home where she was safer. Lola and Tabitha were both in the office with Rosemary, and she was ignoring her colleagues as obviously as possible. She did not want to talk to them until she'd figured out a plan. It was one of the two of them, maybe both. They were the ones who had gone to Editor Lovegood, maybe even to The Harpy, and told them about Rita's involvement with _Wandwork Weekly_. Not that it really mattered which of them had done it. They'd likely worked out a deal to be hired on at _The Quibbler_ in exchange for the information. They'd recognized the warning signs before Rosemary had, probably had made the exchange as soon as they saw what Rita had dared to let Rosemary print. Had Rita gone crazy, or hadn't she known how controversial it would be? Rosemary was seriously entertaining the idea that Rita had lost it.

Rosemary was afraid that there was only one option left for her. She couldn't salvage this magazine; the angry populace wouldn't listen to another word she had to say. She'd actually managed to get the doubtful onto Potter and Malfoy's side rather than making up their minds against them, she thought. Nor could she work out a deal with _The Quibbler_. Not only did they have Lola and/or Tabitha and no use for her, they would never work with her at this point. No, there was one option only. Rosemary had to discover the identity of the owner of her magazine, and use that information to bargain her way out of this mess. Maybe she could change the name she wrote under. She could exchange the name for a place on the writing staff at the _Daily Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_, start producing only mildly controversial pieces, and work her way back up to really challenging stuff. In five years, she could be right back where she wanted, in a community that was much more ready to listen to it. Hell, in five years, they might have accepted gossip about gay wizards as something a bit less than Armageddon on a page.

Lola and Tabitha were watching her just as obviously as she was not watching them. They were waiting for her to crack up, she thought. They were waiting for her to throw in the towel. Well, she wasn't anywhere close to doing that. Rosemary could, given a little time and the opportunity, rebuild her reputation and be _the_ talked-about writer of this world. She still had a secret source at Hogwarts to utilize as she saw fit. But she had neither time nor opportunity. Not without that name. That name was her golden ticket. Whoever she went to would exchange _anything_ to have the exclusive on who owned this mess. She just had to go . . . snooping.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"What do you want me to do?" her contact asked quietly.

Rosemary shook her head, even knowing it was too dark to see the motion. "Nothing, for now."

"But I got you these pictures."

An envelope was held out of the darkness, the moonlight through the branches creating a pattern of shadows on it.

Rosemary took it. "What are they?"

"Pictures of a student going into Malfoy's room. I thought, since you were already writing stories about that sort of thing . . ."

Rosemary chuckled with appreciation. "You have a devious mind, you know. You are the perfect asset for me." _Not to mention willing to brave the Forbidden Forest at night to talk to me, close to the edge or not . . ._

"Will they be in the next issue?"

"No. You must have seen _The Quibbler_, you know how angry everyone is right now. I have to lay low for bit. My editor has nearly had to go into hiding."

There was a little laugh. "They just don't want to see what's right in front of them," Rosemary's contact said. "They don't want to see what they've allowed in here among their children."

"You need to lay low, too," Rosemary said. "I don't want you getting caught doing this. I might need you later when I'm ready to start doing really daring articles again."

"I'll be careful," her contact said. "I always am."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rosemary slid out of bed with a whisper of silk on bare skin. She shrugged into a robe, also silk but green, not gray.

"Where you goin'?" grunted the man still in her bed. He'd dozed off, but the movement had disturbed him.

"Glass of water," she said in a quiet voice, as though they might wake someone.

He—Merlin, what was his name, Fred or Frank?—subsided with a groan. She'd worn him completely out. She grinned widely, and slipped out of the bedroom. She wasn't thirsty, just restless. Tonight had been a true celebration. She really ought to work for the Ministry, she was a better investigator than half the Aurors they had. She had the name she'd been looking for. And _Merlin_, was it good. Not only was she guaranteed a new position if she wanted it, she could probably negotiate her salary. Not to mention she had managed to retain her exclusive contact inside Hogwarts despite the recent setbacks. People who had a grudge were often the most reliable, though she did worry that the grudge would drive her contact to be too open about spying no matter the promise made to Rosemary. With those two things on her side, she'd survive just fine. And now that she knew Lola and Tabitha had sold her out, she felt no qualms about leaving them behind and letting them sink or swim without her.

She searched her thoughts, trying to decide if she felt bad about Geoffrey. He would probably survive just as well as she did. He had charm and good looks besides a decent ability to write, and he wasn't likely to be painted with the same brush. He would probably be able to convince whoever he applied to that he only sent his pieces into the magazine, and he'd never known who the editor was to begin with. He hadn't been to work since "In the Closet" had been printed, and Rosemary had the feeling he'd already found something else. She was trying to decide if she felt bad about ending things with him by way of nearly destroying his career. He'd been a pleasant diversion from work. Had he been more than that? She'd honestly thought of him in regards to The Future.

In the other room, Fred or Frank turned over in bed and made it creak, and she smiled again. Now that was a real wizard in there, Geoffrey considered or not. Well, she'd never claimed to be particularly sentimental. Or moral. What she was, was a survivor. And she was going to get past this and thrive again. She had everything she needed to make it: her own looks and skills, and one hell of a bargaining chip. Anyone who could hold her back, who didn't have the sense to do as she did, wasn't worth her time. And there were a _lot_ of wizards out there.

Still, it had been nice while it lasted.


	28. Chapter 21: Close to Home

Chapter Twenty-One

Close to Home

Draco was watching the Quidditch match with one eye and Letty Burns with his completely metaphorical other eye. She'd had a bad nosebleed this morning, and she'd had to turn on her considerable but untraditional charm to get Madam Pomfrey to let her go out today. Actually, it was with one eye that he watched both Letty and Ferris Forsythe, who had appointed himself her bodyguard for the day. He, Trevor, and Davis sort of took it in turns to look after the physically weakest member of their group, even knowing that their Head was doing the same thing. Letty liked to bluster and claim she was fine without their help, but Ferris was still hanging close and keeping a pack of tissues in the pocket of his robe in case her nose started bleeding again. Draco happened to know that Ferris was also holding on to her asthma inhaler, since she had a tendency to lose it accidentally-on-purpose.

Draco smiled. Letty was such a good example of why he used to hate Gryffindors. And yet there were the three boys following her around and looking after her, and he knew she'd do the same for them if they needed it. Gryffindors might be a bit reckless, but they looked after each other. He couldn't say the same for the Slytherin he had belonged in. This new one, the one led by the Kilburnes and Sorensons, was something else altogether.

Gryffindor and Slytherin were battling fiercely out on the pitch. One of the two of them was going to win this year. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had both had very good teams when the year started, but the loss of Barry and Quentin had set them back too far to recover. Draco's mind, as it often did, went to the three boys in the hospital wing. Harry had taught Madam Pomfrey and all four Heads of House how to administer the spell that lessened the nightmares, and the six of them were constantly rotating through the room day and night to cast it on the boys.

Roman and Apollo swooped by the Gryffindor stands, apparently intent on the Snitch, and the crowd began to swell with excited noises. Draco cast a sharp eye and realized that there was no Snitch, Roman was simply leading Apollo on a distracting chase around the pitch while he continued to search. He grinned. Give Apollo another year on the team, and he wouldn't be fooled by that kind of trick anymore. He was a decent player but inexperienced. Roman had been playing Seeker four years, he was guaranteed to catch the Snitch before Apollo did. The problem here was that Apollo's older brother was a far superior Keeper to Ran Edwards, even though Ran had found a whole new enthusiasm for the game after his Christmas holidays. The Slytherins were soundly trouncing them, point-wise. Lana, Pierce, and Maddy had to catch up and do it quick, before Roman ran out of distractions for Apollo and had to end the game.

The Gryffindor Chasers were the best example of teamwork Draco had seen in a long time, and they were smart to boot. They used the excitement roused by the Seekers to score on Lysander not once, but twice, before Apollo realized that he was being deceived. Ran managed to keep his head, too. The Slytherin Chasers tried the same trick but he knew his job, and it wasn't spectating the match.

"Yeeeeeahhhhhh, Ran!" he heard Letty and Ferris screaming below him. He smiled with something a little more than happiness over the match. Ran's reputation at school had undergone quite a few ups and downs, but it seemed to be settling at last. His first year, he'd been universally rejected. Last year, Matt and Bear had invited him in among their friends, and he'd had Simon when he needed someone who wasn't eleven. This year, his own roommates had finally accepted him, just when most of Gryffindor had turned back to scorn. Now, finally, it seemed he was becoming accepted by all. Draco was well aware that the situation this year was due to Ran's issues with him. While gratified by his own popularity with the students, he had never wanted it to effect Ran. Either way, he was much happier to have Ran speaking to him again. And not just speaking, but back to shadowing him and joking with him, and asking for his company in the greenhouse on the full moon. He had never interacted with Hagrid, it seemed; the big man had sat with Ran only as far as duty required.

Letty swayed suddenly, looking a little dizzy, and Ferris immediately pushed her into a seat. She was scowling at him, but he scowled right back, and she folded her arms over her chest and subsided. It couldn't keep her from her enthusiasm over the match, anyway. Draco grinned when he saw that Ferris was watching Letty at least as much as he was watching the match, despite the fact that she was safely sitting down. With only two girls in his year, he'd apparently picked the petite girl of the wildly curly hair over the much more self-sufficient blond Beater out on the pitch today. Ferris might be only twelve, but it was clear he was smitten with his friend. No wonder Trevor and Davis had been leaving her care to Ferris more often lately.

Draco returned his attention to the Quidditch match, but it was nearly over by now. Gryffindor was the only House who wasn't feeling the strain of having a member under the Nightmare Curse, and they were revitalized by the return of Ran's positive outlook on life. Bear and Kerry were in top form, and the Chasers were never in a moment of danger as they swooped and dived and passed the Quaffle between them with uncommonly sure hands. They had nearly tied the game when Apollo finally stopped being taken in by Roman's tricks and found the Snitch. They chased after it together and the entire crowd started yelling and screaming with excitement. Bear and Kerry's moment came; the Beaters did something Draco had overheard them planning in the common room. It was fairly well known that Apollo was not only comfortable but dangerous on a broom, whether he was an experienced Quidditch player or not. In an out-and-out race for the Snitch, he could easily win.

Bear and Kerry entered a sudden climb straight up, rocketing past the two Seekers as they chased the Snitch in a much shallower upward trajectory. They criss-crossed at the last moment and passed the other two players close enough to nearly collide, and batted a Bludger back and forth between them to give them an excuse for being there. Apollo was startled and took his eyes off the Snitch. A second later, Roman's hand closed over the golden ball and the game was over.

As the excitement died down, and the spectators began to trickle back indoors to escape the dreary weather, Draco cast one last glance at the two children he'd been watching. Ferris was leading Letty through the crowd by the hand, and when they entered a clear space in the press of students, he put his arm around her. She looked very peaky, and it was obvious she needed the assistance, but Draco still found it very cute. He trailed them as far as the hospital wing, where Ferris left her to get a Pepper-Up potion and a scolding from Pomfrey while he went back to the common room to wait for her. Draco went to find the Quidditch players and congratulate them on the match. He wanted to see if Ran had repaired things with Bear and Matt as well as he had with Draco.

* * *

Professor Malfoy was slumped in a chair, looking pale and shaken, and Ran's heart squeezed. It had been such a good day up till now. They'd won the game, and the aftermath of that had been great. Everyone seemed to be much happier with Ran now that everything was all right with the professor again, and Ran had felt welcome to join in the celebration in the common room. Professor Malfoy had come in to congratulate them, and had just laughed when he saw all the food they'd nicked from the kitchen and the sweets Richie Falconer had snuck off to smuggle in from Honeyduke's.

The celebration had ended pretty abruptly when Professor Harry had come in and grabbed their Head of House to whisper in his ear. When Professor Malfoy's startled look went directly to Ferris Forsythe, everyone knew what had happened.

They'd discovered Letty lying in the corridor, on her way back from the hospital wing. They'd thought she'd only fainted, but then they couldn't get her to wake up. She'd fallen under the Nightmare Curse. Ferris had followed the professors to see for himself, but they'd made Matt bring him back to Gryffindor Tower an hour ago. Then Professor Harry had left, too, to tend to other duties.

Now it was just Professor Malfoy in here. Staring at Letty's unconscious form like it contained the mysteries to the universe if only he could figure out how to extract them. He looked desperate. Everyone knew Letty was one of the students he kept a special eye on, ever since last year when she'd fallen off her broom at the beginning of Christmas holidays. Now she was another one of the victims he couldn't help. Madam Pomfrey swore she'd sent Letty off with another student as an escort, but she couldn't remember which student. It seemed pretty obvious that whoever that student was, it was the person doing the cursing. Madam Pomfrey had been in tears, trying to remember who it was, but she'd been too busy to pay attention at the time.

Ran had come here to try to get the Professor to leave, to go to bed. He knew he would get in trouble for coming here alone, but he didn't care. Seeing his professor, his friend, sitting here hollow-eyed and desperate, made him not care.

"Professor?"

Ran froze when confronted with the business end of a wand.

"Oh, it's you," Professor Malfoy said wearily, and put his wand away. His eyes returned to Letty. He flinched when Ran put a hand on his shoulder.

"Professor, are you okay?"

"No, I can't say I am."

"Can I do anything, sir?"

There was the slightest ghost of a smile on the older man's face. "You can stop calling me 'sir,' for one thing. Since you're the only student whose mother I happen to be in love with, you can also be the only student allowed to call me Draco."

Ran smiled, too, if a bit uncomfortably. It was still hard to think about that part of this repaired friendship; still difficult to think about anyone but himself in charge of his mother's happiness. It was something he had to learn to share with a man who'd admitted he didn't deserve it. But he was closer to the professor than any of the other students, anyway, his mother aside. If anyone should have the privilege of using the man's name, it was Ran.

"Draco, then," he said, testing it out on his tongue. "Can I do anything?"

"I wish you could, Ran," he sighed. "I wish there was something to be done." Letty let out a soft cry, and his shoulders hunched up with misery. "Letty, I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Draco?"

They both turned to the new voice from the doorway. It was Professor Harry, back from wherever he'd been the last hour.

"Harry, what is it?"

"I just talked to Frederick Forsythe."

Draco frowned, then his face cleared. "Head of the rather sizable Forsythe family?"

The dark-haired professor nodded, and Ran decided it was time he left. Profes— _Draco_, grabbed hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Stay here, Ran. I don't want you going anywhere alone."

Professor Harry shrugged. "Well, I suppose it's safe to assume you are not the perpetrator of the Nightmare Curse," he said to Ran. "And I assume I can trust you not to talk about this with anyone. It might be nice to have a student fully informed of things, actually. The professors can only know so much about what goes on among you."

Draco raised his eyebrow and gave Ran a crooked grin. "How about it, Ran? You feel like becoming a spy?"

Ran returned the smile with uncertainty. "If you need me, sure."

Draco nodded to a couple of other chairs, recently vacated by Dan and Hestia Waverly. Ran and the professor sat in them.

"So I guess you've been thinking the same thing I've been thinking," Draco said.

The professor nodded. "An enemy of the Forsythe family. One with a child at this school."

"And you asked Frederick about it?"

"Wait," Ran interjected. "If it's someone who hates the Forsythes, how come none of them are laying in here?"

The professor gave Ran a grim look. "Going after loved ones rather than the enemy. Very common tactic, unfortunately."

"Yeah, but they're not really loved ones, are they?" Ran objected, trying to reconcile what he knew with what the adults were thinking. "I mean, Letty, maybe. But Faith told Quentin she _wouldn't_ go out with him, and she and Barry only played Quidditch together. And Gilbert only _studies_ with Felicity, she doesn't love him or anything. I don't think, anyway."

"It's also possible it's a scare tactic," Draco mused. "Also fairly common. You show your enemy how close you can get to them without actually harming them."

Professor Harry nodded. "I thought that, too, actually. Though I'm glad Ran feels the same way, it makes me feel more certain to have someone who would know about the relationships better than I would." He flashed Ran a brief look of approval that made Ran sit up straighter. So, maybe he actually would be useful, then.

"Well, what did Mr. Forsythe have to say?"

"He's as clueless as we are. He can't think of anyone who hates him enough to do something like this, much less someone with a school-aged child. I told him I thought this was a scare tactic, like you mentioned, and told him it might be someone who stands to gain from coercing him rather than hurting him directly. He was still confused, but he's going to think about it, and he's going to contact Kingsley with whatever he comes up with. If this is something against the family, then it goes beyond the school, and the Aurors need to be closer to this than they have been."

Draco was nodding his agreement, and Ran took it all in quietly. If he was going to be a "spy," then he was going to need to start asking around and finding out if any of the students had grudges against the Forsythes. He didn't know if he should ask the Forsythe kids directly. If they hadn't spoken up about it already, they probably didn't know. Who else might know? He could try asking the prefects, they were a little more cooperative between Houses than the ordinary students. Unfortunately, he didn't really know any of the prefects. Well, he was on the Quidditch team with Lana, and her sister was a prefect. And he knew Basil, and Basil's sister was a prefect. Maybe he could get something there.

"Draco," came yet another interruption in the professor's contemplation this evening. They all turned toward the door.

"Greg, what is it?"

Ran again wondered if it was time for him to go. Professor Kilburne was carrying a small package of some kind.

"Nothing much, actually. I went down to your office to ask if you had thought of talking to the Forsythe kids' father."

"Harry did, actually."

"Oh, good. Anyway, this package was on your desk, so I brought it up."

"Package? Huh." Draco stood up to take it. "Thanks, Greg."

Professor Kilburne was looking at Ran, and Ran tried to look back confidently, like he really should be here. Well, if Professor Harry and Draco wanted him here, then he should be.

"Hey, Greg, do you have a way of getting in contact with your brother?"

Kilburne shrugged. "He says he's going to stay in Austria for two weeks, I might be able to catch him there. Why?"

"Because he's the only student in recent history who was any good at inventing his own spells."

The professor scowled. "We've talked about this—"

"I know, it's not Jack, obviously. He's in Austria. But you can ask him if he ever worked with any other students on inventing spells, can't you? He would know if there's a student still here who had practiced with him or anything."

Kilburne nodded a little less grudgingly. "I've been waiting for him to settle in one spot long enough to ask him," he said with a wry smile. "I've been wanting to ask him for weeks. He was too damn popular, you know? All the kids said he was friends with everybody, nobody came to mind that he spent a lot of time with. The only person who can say, is him. I'm going to ask him. I'll let you know what I found out."

"Thanks, Greg. See you in the morning."

Kilburne nodded, gave Ran another curious look, and left.

Professor Harry nodded to the package on Draco's lap. "What's that?"

"No idea," Draco shrugged. "It's not labeled." He frowned. "Why do I get the feeling that my brother has sent me something very unpleasant?"

Ran jerked with surprise. "I forgot about that," he blurted out. "Your brother, I mean." He could feel himself turning red. "Er, I just, think it's strange . . . never mind."

Draco sighed. "Strange doesn't even come close," he muttered. "Ridiculous and aggravating and slippery as a damn snake are a bit closer. The best descriptions are words I don't want your mother finding out I've said."

Ran stared at the package. "Open it," he urged.

Draco opened it, and drew in a shocked breath. "Shit."

"What?" Professor Harry pointed his wand at it and waited for something to leap out.

Draco held up a ring with some kind of crest on it. "This was my father's," he said in a low, urgent tone. "It was in my _house_."

"He got in," Professor Harry said grimly. "He got past your wards."

Draco gritted his teeth. "I keyed them to my blood. They should have only opened at the command of someone who was both Malfoy and Black. He figured out how to get past the 'Black' restriction, apparently."

Professor Harry stood up. "Let's go."

"To the Manor?"

"Yeah, I'll help you set up some new wards. I'll call Kingsley, have him send Terrence to help, Terrence is good with wards."

"Harry, whoa. Wait."

"What?"

"First of all, let's take Ran back to the tower," Draco said, putting his hand on Ran's shoulder. Ran stood up slowly. "Then let's consider the possibility that it might be a good thing to let Cross get into the Manor."

"Er . . . _why_?"

"Because I can set up booby traps inside," Draco said with a bright, sharp-edged smile. "He'll be off-guard once he's in the house, won't he? We might even nab this teacher of his while we're at it."

The other professor returned the diamond-hard smile. "We could finally end it." He shook his head. "Too bad we don't have Mad-Eye around anymore. He could have set traps like you wouldn't believe; tied the two of them up as neat as a package to wait on his leisure."

"Well, we'll just have to do our best."

"A kidnapper and a Dark wizard out of the way," Professor Harry said while Ran frowned at the sudden change in the two of them. "One of our problems finally dealt with."

The two men smiled at each other one more time, and Ran shivered. He was a werewolf. It was a look he knew, one he knew far too intimately and feared in himself. It was the satisfaction of a predator with his prey in his sights.


	29. Chapter 22: Nightmares

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nightmares

Bear and Kerry physically picked Ferris up out of the chair he'd spent all afternoon in, and Kerry took a firm grip on him while Bear stole his seat. Ferris fought Kerry as he started to lead Ferris away with a strong arm around his shoulders.

"Let go! What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to the Great Hall for dinner," Kerry said in a tone that did not invite argument.

Ferris was not in the mood to listen to the tone, and definitely in a mood to argue. "I'm not going anywhere! What if she wakes up?"

Matt pulled a chair over beside Bear. "We'll be here," he said calmly. "We can watch her long enough for you to get dinner."

"But . . ." Ferris looked back and forth between the three of them as he realized they'd planned this as some kind of rescue mission and sprung it on him. "I don't want to leave her."

Matt got up again. Kerry was not good at this sort of thing. "She won't wake up, Ferris," he said cautiously. "Not until the professors figure something out."

"But she _might_."

"So we'll be here if she does."

Ferris clenched his jaw, causing the chin that exactly resembled his siblings' to jut out at Matt. "This is my fault. I should be here."

"How is this your fault?" Kerry asked curiously, still holding Ferris tightly to prevent him from returning to Letty's bedside.

"You think I don't know what's going on? Everyone knows it has to do with my family." Ferris looked at Letty with tears in his eyes. "I should have left her alone. I shouldn't have—"

His voice broke. He sagged in Kerry's grip and Kerry was suddenly holding him up instead of restraining him.

"You didn't know," Matt said. "You didn't know this would happen. It's not your fault."

That just made Ferris look even more miserable, but he allowed Kerry to lead him out of the hospital wing and down to the Great Hall, where Davis and Trevor were waiting to force-feed him, if necessary. Matt returned to the chair he'd set up beside Bear, who was sitting very still in front of the only other girl in their year. She watched Letty's face as it twisted in distress while she slept.

Matt put his hand on Bear's forearm, which was tense and corded with her abnormal amount of muscle. "Bear, relax," he said softly, a little alarmed.

She shook his hand off. "Sorry."

"Why are you . . . you look like you're getting ready to punch her."

The muscles in her arms jumped. "Not her."

"Well, the one who did this to her isn't here," he said, his voice still soft and soothing—the way he used to talk all the time, when he'd been so shy. His kidnapping last year had made him realize he was strong in his own way, and he'd gotten better at making himself heard. But with Bear, he didn't have to act like one of the guys, like Kerry or Trevor. He was just Matt. He didn't have to be talk tough or loud, because Bear already knew him better than that.

"I know that."

"You can't fight this curse with your fists, either."

Bear growled at him. "I know, Matt."

"I wish you could," he said.

"That would be a little easier."

"No, I just wish you had something you could do. I know it scares you that you can't fight it. I wish you weren't afraid."

Now her eyes left Letty to look at him in surprise. "What?"

He gave her a sickly smile. "You're never afraid of anything. It just scares me to know that you are."

She sighed through her nose, a noise of frustration and worry. Her eyes flickered back to Letty. "We're all afraid, though. Even your dad, Matt."

He sighed, too. "Yeah. At least now we know—sort of—who might be in danger."

"All the Forsythes' friends are running away from them. Faith is even quitting the Quidditch team. Except Ferris. You guys are sticking with Ferris. Why are you doing that, Matt? Aren't you afraid?"

Matt was afraid, just like he'd said a moment ago. Kerry and Trevor and Davis, much as they liked to bluster about it, were scared, too. But Matt's words when they had talked this afternoon, while Ferris was alone with Letty in the hospital wing, had convinced them to channel it into defiance. He repeated them for Bear.

"Fear can't keep me away from him. I won't let anyone intimidate me into abandoning my friends."

"Why do I get the feeling that Basil tried to talk you out of this?"

Matt smiled a little. "Basil always uses his brain first. But he's in on it, too."

"He is?"

"Well, Diane Kilburne is trying to stay as far away from Felicity as possible. He didn't like to see Felicity so alone anymore than we liked seeing Ferris like this. Basil said if the Gryffindors were planning to throw themselves in front of a speeding train, he might as well join the fun. He and Milt are going to take care of Felicity. If she lets them, anyway."

"What do you mean, if she lets them?"

"Well, Basil tried to talk to her after class today, and she ran off screaming to leave her alone. She knows it's dangerous to be friends with her. You notice she and Faith haven't been in here to visit their friends at all? I think they're afraid whoever's using the curse will come do something even worse."

Bear looked over the four students laid out and moaning. She shuddered. "I don't think there's anything worse than this."

Matt watched them for a minute. All four of them were afraid and in pain. The only thing that could end that was to regain consciousness, and they couldn't do that. It was like drowning, knowing that air was only inches away, but a hand holding your head under the water denied you that life.

"I think you're right," he muttered. "This is . . ." He shivered.

Bear slipped her hand into his. They kept vigil over the students until Professor Thumbley came in, escorting Hestia. The girl sat beside her brother's bed and watched somberly as Thumbley cast the spell that would reduce the nightmares for a little while. Hestia would stay until Professor Malfoy came later to cast the spell again and escort her back to her dormitory. Matt and Bear had Thumbley escort them back to Gryffindor Tower, unwilling to walk the corridors without an adult if they could help it.

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"Gah!" Matt yelped, throwing back his restraining bedcovers and gasping for breath. "Whew." He rubbed the burn scar on his neck, knowing it had faded a lot over the years, but was still there. It was always a reminder of the darkness in his past, and he looked in the mirror as rarely as possible. He ran his hand through his hair—much shorter than it had been at Christmas, his mother had trimmed it for him—and tried to calm down.

"Matt, are you all right?" one of his roommates whispered.

"Yeah," he whispered back. "Just a nightmare."

His nightmares had been rare, since his kidnapping. Something about seeing Max Cross fall before his wand had changed him, had driven away a lot of the fear. He wasn't just a little kid sitting helpless against any possible danger, not anymore. But once in a while, there was still that vision of flames, the body of his birth mother . . . he shook his head to get rid of the images.

"At least you can wake up," the voice whispered again sullenly.

"Ferris, what are you doing awake?"

"I can't sleep."

"What's wrong?"

Ferris let out a choked, hysterical giggle. "Nothing, Matt. Everything's just ducky."

"No, I just meant . . ." Matt sighed. "Can I help?"

"No."

"They'll figure it out, Ferris. They'll find something they can do, they'll wake everyone up. I know they will."

"It doesn't matter," Ferris said dully. "Waking them up won't stop it."

"I'm sure they'll discover who's after your family, too," Matt said. Actually, that would probably be the easier part. "It'll be over soon."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe someone will figure all this out and put a stop to it. This is a nightmare."

"The nightmare," came a growling voice from near Ferris, "is that I can't sleep in my own bed at night because of all the bloody noise."

"Oh, shut up, Kerry," came Trevor's voice. "None of us are sleeping so well, anyway."

"Speak for yourself," Davis groaned. "I'm with Kerry. Will you all shut up so those of us that want to sleep, can?"

There was a sort of collective groan around the room.

"Fine, come on, Ferris," Matt said, getting up out of bed.

"Where are we going?"

"To the common room, so these whiners can get their beauty rest."

"Won't we get in trouble?" Ferris object, nevertheless following him out of the room and leaving Kerry, Trevor, and Davis to their sleep.

"With Professor Malfoy? Please. He's the biggest softie I've ever met."

"Matt, I wonder if you have any idea how incredibly ironic it sounds to hear _you_ calling Professor _Malfoy_ a softie."

"Yeah, well . . ." Matt grinned. "Okay, maybe it is, a little."

Ferris shook his head in disbelief. "How do you deal with that? I mean, really?"

"With what?"

Ferris rolled his eyes. "With your incredible intelligence and good looks, Matt. The girls must be all over you." He smacked Matt on the back of the head. "With having Draco Malfoy for your Head of House. After what he did to you."

Matt shrugged. "That was a long time ago. He's not the same person."

"But it still _happened_."

"Yeah, and I still have dreams about it," he reminded his roommate in annoyance. Would people ever let this go? They were as bad as that awful Carthy woman! "But why should I think about it all the time? Professor Malfoy is really good to me, to all of us. He has a hard enough time letting go of what he did, why would I make it worse on him?"

Ferris sank down into a chair in front of the dead fireplace. Matt used his wand to rekindle a few embers and put on a log that sat in the basket beside the hearth. "Yeah, you're right. He's definitely not like that anymore." He stretched out his bare feet toward the fire. "But the person who's cursing people right now . . ." His face, constantly flickering from light to dark by the dancing firelight, was angry. "Do you think they deserve a second chance?"  
"I don't know," Matt said calmly. "It depends on why they're doing this and if they can change. I hope they can."

Ferris snorted. "And you think the professor's a softie?"

"Matt, while I am not altogether surprised to find you in the common room in the middle of the night, I'm a bit surprised that you've started bringing your friends in here," a voice said behind them.

Ferris and Matt both jumped up and turned around with wands in their hands.

"Professor, we were just talking about you," Ferris joked nervously.

"While I'm sure I'm very flattered, is there any particular reason you couldn't talk about me in the morning, or in your beds at the very least?"

"We were keeping the other guys awake," Matt said.

"And now you're keeping me awake. Lovely."

"Almost as lovely as the detention we're going to get," Ferris guessed at Professor Malfoy's exhausted and annoyed expression.

"Well, since I am such a _softie_, perhaps not. Assuming you have a really great reason to be up in the middle of the night."

"I had a nightmare," Matt said in a low voice. "And Ferris was already awake." He almost hated having to tell him. He didn't like reminded the professor of his nightmares.

"I was just . . ." Ferris was remembering his reason for being awake. "Just worried. About Letty." The tears in his eyes glittered in the firelight.

Professor Malfoy came further into the common room, and Matt smiled under the guise of a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand. The man was fully dressed and his hair smoothed back, obviously trying to look like he hadn't leapt out of bed in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten to put on his eyepatch. The gruesome gaping hole in the side of his face detracted from the overall impression of composure he was probably going for.

"Is something funny, Matt?"

"Kind of gross, actually, sir."

The professor frowned, realized Matt was looking directly at his face, and his one eye opened very wide. His hand crept up and touched the other side of his face, realizing what he'd forgotten.

"Shit," he muttered. "Sorry, boys."

Ferris had his head cocked to one side. "Ow," he winced, studying the old injury. "Your face looks sort of smashed right there."

Professor Malfoy rolled his good eye. "How very odd. I wonder why."

Matt giggled nervously.

Ferris gasped, remembering. "Sorry, sir." Then his expression became very solemn. "You must have nightmares at least as bad as Matt's are." His face darkened even further. "I wonder what Letty's dreaming about."

Professor Malfoy sat down in front of the fire, indicating that Ferris and Matt could sit with him. He looked really, really sad. Like he did when he was thinking about his past.

"I'm sorry I can't do any more for her," he said quietly. "I wish I could."

"Everybody wishes there was something they could do," Matt said. "Nobody blames you, sir. We all know there isn't much to be done."

Ferris was silent.

The three of them sat in front of the fire without speaking until the log was a pile of ash, then they wordlessly returned to their beds. Praying that the nightmares would leave them in peace for the few hours of night they had left.

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_Well, things are going to pick up speed rapidly from here, the story is getting very close to the climax. I'm debating whether or not to post several chapters at once, or continue the one chapter per day routine. I know with the fall term of school in session, some of you might not have time for multiple chapters. If you have a preference, let me know! I shall try to be accommodating._

_Also, I'm going to continue to pimp my short story, A Supplication For a Forgotten Soul, because I'm proud of it. Check it out!_


	30. Chapter 23: Why We Exist

Chapter Twenty-Three

Why We Exist

"Thanks for coming, Harry," a deep voice said behind him. "As soon as I saw it, I suspected, but . . . well, let's just say I was glad to see you."

Harry stared numbly at the body being loaded onto the stretcher by the paramedics. The first policemen to arrive at the scene had thankfully included his cousin, and Dudley had realized immediately that this was more than a normal crime scene. He'd called up Harry directly, and Harry had told Kingsley to meet him here. Kingsley had brought Fritz with him, and Fritz had been busy modifying a couple of memories while Harry and Kingsley spoke with the officers who knew about magic. Dudley and a fellow named Banks had been a bit shocked at the violence wizards were capable of. Normally they didn't see much crossover between the magical world and the Muggle world, if any. Never like this.

The body was already bagged, because reporters were arriving. They didn't want any pictures of this getting out. A terrorist attack, that would be the story. And it was a terrorist attack, if not the kind the Muggle world would be thinking. A body blown to bits was a terrorist attack indeed, whether the means had been a bomb or a latent curse. Unfortunately, the symbol on the wall was sure to rile the Muggle community into a frenzy. Religious intent was sure to be thought responsible for this mess.

Dudley and Harry stood side-by-side and stared at the wall. The symbol was painted in the blood of the dead victim—a man of forty-two whose identification named him Victor Bridges, and whose wallet had also contained pictures of a woman and two little girls. The "terrorist" had known exactly what sort of victim would upset the recipients of his message the most. A man with a family. A man with two daughters who would be missing their daddy.

"Do you think he's trying to get your friend Malfoy to come after him?" Dudley asked.

Harry sighed. "Yeah. Draco will be . . . beyond furious when he hears about this."

The cross, still fresh and gleaming wetly, could not be missed. Not a signal of religious intent, but a signature. Cross. Of course he wouldn't just write "Maximilian Malfoy" on the wall, that would be too easy. He'd still left an unmistakeable signature, and Harry was boiling with anger because a wizard raised in the Muggle world would know exactly how the Muggles would understand a cross painted on the wall.

"Maybe you shouldn't tell him," Dudley suggested. "Unless he reads _our_ paper."

"Not that I know of," Harry said. "But I wouldn't lie to him, anyway. I'll have to tell him."

Dudley's forehead was wrinkled in concentration, thinking. "Didn't you hate him, once? Didn't he used to be a criminal?"

"Used to be," Harry agreed. "He's the one that saved Matt."

"Oh, right, you told me about that. The kidnapping and everything. Hey, are your kids all right without you tonight?"

"Sirius and Charlotte are back home with their mother," Harry said, and even in the face of this awful situation, it caused him to smile for a moment. "Ginny and I have made up. Sort of. I'm not home yet. But I see the kids on Saturdays."

"I wouldn't call that made up."

"Well, there's a situation going on at the school right now. I can't really leave. It's not that she doesn't want me home, it's that I'm needed elsewhere."

"You mean this stuff with Cross isn't enough?" Dudley said wryly.

"You have no idea," Harry sighed. "Although at least none of the students are dead. Yet."

"Yet? What's going on?"

"Magic," Harry said simply. "Dark magic."

That was enough of an explanation for Dudley. Harry knew that while Dudley was prepared to accept that magic existed, he wanted to stay out of it as much as possible. "Dark magic" meant that phantom, that shadow, that had chased his family into hiding and was now keeping him from contacting his mother. It was what had nearly killed his cousin more times than he could count, what had killed his aunt and uncle before he'd ever had a chance to know them, and now it had killed the man being put into the emergency vehicle at the top of the stairs to the Embankment Underground station. If it was dark magic, he didn't want to know anymore.

"At your school?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. The kids are in danger."

"Including your son."

"Mine more than most," Harry answered, his eyes still on the bloody cross, thinking of the way Matt and Basil had rallied their friends around the Forsythe twins. "He's putting himself in danger on purpose, knowing that he could be next but not letting that stop him."

Dudley gave Harry a small smile, something that happened but rarely between them. "Sounds a bit like his dad, doesn't he?"

Harry put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glad he'd brought some Muggle clothing to Hogwarts with him. "I suppose so," he agreed grimly, turning away from the crime scene to look for Kingsley.

"Harry," Kingsley greeted him in his deep, smooth voice and manner that was so at odds with a job that basically amounted to police captain. Harry was just waiting for Rufus Scrimgeour to step down or die, because Kingsley was born to be Minister.

"His tutor helped him with this," Harry said in return. "He's not smart enough to pull this off and leave no traces, not without help."

Kingsley nodded. "Thought so." He looked at Dudley soberly. "I couldn't talk you into going back into hiding, could I?"

"Not bloody likely," Dudley growled, hitching up the waist of his pants like he was preparing for action. Harry hated it when he did that. He could usually ignore how dwarfed he felt by his cousin, but not when he put on that attitude. Of course, he didn't really treasure the idea of addding a few more inches to his height if it came with Dudley's thick build.

"I didn't think so. Well, I'll have Dan come down, he and Fritz can poke around a bit more, see if there's anything we've missed. Other than that, I don't know what to do at this point."

Harry sighed. "I'll go get Dan. He's at Hogwarts."

Kingsley frowned. "With his son?"

Harry nodded.

"Never mind. I'll stay. Fritz and I will go over everything again."

"Dan won't thank you for that," Harry said. "He knows a fresh pair of eyes is more important than sitting with Quentin."

Kingsley nodded. "I don't want to pull Magdalena and Terrence off their watch at Malfoy Manor. We need Dan." He frowned. "He ought to be here anyway. He's not supposed to let you," he nodded to Dudley, "out of his sight when you're not in your home."

Dudley shrugged his large shoulders. "I told him to go. I knew his son was in the hospital or something." He turned to Harry with a deep frown. "Is this the same problem you were telling me about?"

Harry nodded, and he couldn't keep the pain and weariness out of his eyes. "Dan's son, Quentin, has been . . . in a coma. Since October."

Dudley's mouth dropped open. "That's nearly six months, that is."

Harry pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. "Nearly the same for Barry. Four months for Gilbert. Only one for Letty. So far."

"Magical _comas_?" Dudley asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged miserably. "It's a little better than magical explosions that rip the heads off men with little girls at home."

Dudley shook his head. "I think I know why Mum and Dad hated you people so much," he muttered.

Kingsley gave Dudley a stern look. "You cannot judge all wizards by the actions of a few. Cross and the perpetrator of this . . ." he glanced at Harry, "_coma_ problem, they're only two wizards out of the whole world."

"Yeah, but how many of you fight back like Harry does?" Dudley objected. "Two against one, isn't it?"

"No," Harry said. "Kingsley does just as much as I do. All the Aurors do."

"And they're at the school helping you with the coma thingy?"

"No, they're busy saving you," Harry countered. "Draco's at the school with me, trying to put a stop to the Nightmare Curse."

"I don't think I want to know why you call it that," Dudley muttered savagely. "The shit you wizards come up with . . ."

"You don't think Muggles are capable of just as much?" Harry asked. "Wizards didn't invent the electric chair or nuclear bombs."

Dudley frowned. His brain, perhaps just a little less capable than the other minds at work here tonight, mulled it over, and he unconsciously thrust his hands into his pockets just like Harry did, with his shoulders slightly hunched.

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said finally. "Magic or not, we all find really terrible things to do to each other."

"That's why men like you and me exist," Harry said, clapping a hand on his cousin's back, nearly laughing as he realized how absurd it was that he was having this conversation with _Dudley Dursley_. "We're here to fight it."

"Yeah," Dudley said, his face brightening a little.

Harry's eyes fell on the cross painted on the wall, now drying to a darker, rusty red. "Or sometimes just to clean up after it," he whispered. He turned to Kingsley. "I'll go get Dan."

"No need, Dan's here," came Dan's voice from the top of the stairs. He was coming down with someone else right on his heels. "I called the office to check in and they told me you were here, Kingsley. Harry, how'd you end up in this mess?"

"My cousin called me," Harry said, nodding to his cousin. The person behind Dan, though still shadowed, was obvious by the cautious way he took the stairs, favouring one leg. "Draco, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I was in the hospital wing with Dan. I heard it was my brother."

The two newcomers took in the bloody cross.

"You know, I thought it might be painful to kill the little bastard," Draco said thoughtfully. "I'm suddenly feeling quite cheerful about it."

Kingsley shot Draco a suspicious look. Draco rolled his eye at Harry, who smiled.

"I don't think he's serious, Kingsley. He's sort of sworn off killing."

"You're Malfoy?" Dudley spoke up, eyeing the tall, slender blond man with a frown. "Huh. You do look sort of like Cross."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Draco said dryly. "Well, we ought to be good friends," he said, holding out his hand. "We both devoted years of our lives to making his life miserable," he said, indicating Harry with a smile. He shook Dudley's hand. "Now here we are playing sidekick to him."

"Get used to it, lads," said Dan, scratching at his beard to cover his smile. "The rest of us have been doing it for years."

"Aw, you all know you love me," Harry quipped, though his face was red. "Now, any chance we can get to work on catching Draco's bastard brother so that Dudley's boys don't spend any more nights mopping up Tube stations?"

"Why don't we continue this conversation at the office?" Kingsley suggested, his reprimand pre-empted.

"Dursley!" shouted one of the Muggle officers. "Whatever you're talking about with the private investigator will have to wait! Captain wants his report!"

Flashes went off at the top of the stairs, and the barely-restrained representatives of the Muggle press started asking in shouts which man was the private investigator. Kingsley sighed, and Dudley hitched up his belt again.

"Mr. Dursley and I will go have a talk with the captain," Kingsley announced. "The rest of you wait in my office." He frowned at Draco, as if reconsidering, then turned away without another word. With so much of the investigation surrounding the man's family and ancestral home, it would be better to have him involved. Personal feelings aside, of course.

But the more Kingsley contemplated it, the more he realized his personal feelings were not what they had been. Malfoy had been doing a lot of good for their world. Could even be a good Auror, except that he was so committed to teaching. Was it possible to call him a good man? What Harry had said, earlier, that he and his cousin existed to fight the dark . . . didn't that describe Malfoy as well?

Kingsley smiled, even knowing he was in for another headache-inducing conversation with the Muggle police captain. There were quite a few people on their side, now that he thought about it. People fighting back.


	31. Chapter 24: TwelveThousandth Meeting

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Twelve-Thousandth Meeting

"Yes," Draco replied numbly. "I just did it before the meeting. Madam Pomfrey knows how to do it, too."

"Yes, but she has other students in her care," Harry said, sounding just as numb. "I just want to make sure we're not overburdening her."

"I've been getting up at three in the morning to do it," Dorcas said. "We're all taking turns, you know."

"I just want the kids to be as comfortable as possible," Harry repeated for what was quite possibly the twelve-thousandth time.

"So do we," Draco said in an unintentionally nasty voice. "You're not the only one who cares about them, Harry."

"I never said I was."

"Well, you're not the only one who's trying to help them, either," Dorcas said, and she sounded on the verge of tears. "We're all doing our best."

Draco looked over at her, and saw she really was on the verge of tears. He put his hand on hers for a moment, and met Harry's eyes. "We can't start fighting," he said soberly. "I know we're all exhausted, but let's please try not to take it out on each other. I'm sorry."

Harry nodded. "Me, too. You're right, we're all starting to wear out."

"Those poor children," Dorcas said, blinking rapidly. "It's been months, and we're no closer."

"I wouldn't say that," Draco said. "Ran was speaking with Kim Townsend, the Ravenclaw prefect, about it. He thought she'd be best, she's closer to Fayne Forsythe than anyone else. She's supposed to be trying to get him to talk about it."

Harry looked alarmed. "You think one of the Forsythe kids knows something about it? And he's been keeping it to himself?"

"Not necessarily. But Fayne's the oldest, and he's the most likely to know who his parents' enemies are, and having a talk with Kim might help him put together that information with his knowledge of any students who could work this spell."

"Ran has been a big help," Harry said.

Draco smiled, feeling like even his smile was tired. "He's quite pleased to be able to call himself a spy. His mother's going to kill me, though."

"Don't tell her," Harry suggested.

Draco and Dorcas shot Harry a glare at the exact same moment.

"I was kidding," he said in a subdued voice.

"Well, since we ought to assume that Fayne won't be able to help because that's just our luck, can we return to the point of this meeting?" Draco asked, then winced. "Sorry. That's the exhaustion talking."

Dorcas offered him a small smile, but it was tinged with sadness. "I've been searching every book I have. I've written to herbologists I know in France and Brazil. They don't have anything, either."

Draco sighed. "Thanks for trying again, Dorcas. I've been researching everything I can get my hands on, too. Not a single potion that will separate the two parts so we can reverse them. Merlin, I wish Snape was here," he mumbled. "He probably would have had something. Or invented it if nothing existed."

There was a muffled noise across the table, and Draco looked up in shock to see that Harry had put his head down in his arms on the table and was crying.

"Harry?"

"I just— need a minute."

"Shouldn't have brought him up," Draco said. "Sorry."

"Stupid damned old man should have _told_ me," Harry said viciously, his face still buried in his arms.

"I hate to point this out, but you probably would have killed him before he had the chance."

"_Dumbledore_ should have told me," Harry said, and finally lifted his face. "If he'd asked me not to get in the way, I wouldn't have."

Draco said nothing. He just gave Harry a doubtful look until Harry caved.

"Okay, so I would have mucked it all up. Still, you're right. Snape would have been a great asset right about now." Harry chuckled softly. "As good as he was at turning up exactly when you didn't want to see him, he probably would have caught the curser by now." Draco decided not to point out that they were _reminiscing_ about Severus Snape, whose true loyalty Harry was probably still coming to terms with.

Dorcas looked back and forth between them with interest. "I'm not sure whether to feel lucky that I was privately educated, or jealous that I missed out on all the fun."

"Lucky," Harry and Draco said simultaneously. Then they laughed, but it didn't last long.

They were all so weary. They'd met like this so many times. They'd all contacted people, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this spell was brand-new. Harry and Draco had the added burden of Max Cross on their minds. There hadn't been any other deaths in the Underground, at least not yet. But he was still keeping out of sight. The small group of Aurors in the Ministry simply did not have the resources to keep watch on all of London, and Minister Scrimgeour did not see the threat sufficient to detail extra people to Kingsley, like he had last year with Thomas Tyrell. They found themselves wishing that Kingsley Shacklebolt was Minister, yet again.

"It's too much," Harry muttered. "Watching the Underground. Watching your house. Watching the school. Trying to find Cross and the Nightmare Curser. I have to see my kids sometimes, too. I'm afraid they're going to forget about me."

Dorcas put her hand over Harry's. "I know from personal experience that your daughter loves her daddy, and she will never forget about you."

Harry smiled gratefully. "She likes you, too. Both of you, actually."

They all just looked at each other, silent and dull, for a minute.

"I don't think this meeting is doing any good," Draco sighed. "I'm going to go check on my students."

"I'd better do the same," Dorcas said, standing up.

"Hey, look at it this way, Harry," Draco said as he got up. "At least that foul Carthy woman isn't writing about us anymore."

"For now, you mean. She and Rita won't lie low for too much longer, I don't think. That situation has pretty much blown over. They won't be happy until they stir things up again."

"You've always got to be so negative," Draco said, trying to joke.

"You don't think they'll be back soon?"

"I know they will. But I'll be damned if I can find the energy to care."

Harry's head fell back to the table. "Yeah."

Draco came fully back into the room and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come on, cheer up and get moving. You said you were going to talk to Ginny tonight."

"Oh, yeah," he said, getting up. "I almost forgot." He gave Draco a shrewd look. "How's Vianne?"

Draco shrugged. "I haven't had a lot of opportunity to talk to her. She writes to me pretty often, and I write back when I can. She understands." His frustration was almost enough to overcome his weariness. "I haven't seen her since the holidays."

"That's been a couple of months."

"Oh, believe me, I know."

"Draco, why don't you go visit her on Saturday?"

"I have too much to do here. I can barely stay on top of everything right now, I can't just take a day off—"

"Oh, yes you can."

"Easy for you to say."

"I'm not the one who's going to be saying it. _You're_ going to call Vianne and tell her you want to see her on Saturday."

Draco felt a real, genuine smile on his face as he thought about it. "I'd probably spend the whole day asleep."

"She'd probably rather have you there and asleep than not see you at all."

"Maybe I could . . . no. I just don't have the energy for it."

"Energy? I didn't know your relationship was at that stage yet."

"It's not— hey! Harry, I'm going to kill you for that."

"I thought you didn't kill anymore."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I'll . . . do something very bad."

"Right after you call Vianne."

"Yeah, right after I call Vianne. Wait, no, there is no calling Vianne on the agenda!"

"There is now."

Harry had somehow led him to the fireplace in Harry's room that was connected to the firecall network. Draco gave in, and called Vianne. It was a brief conversation, and she looked very worried about him, but it somehow made him feel ten times better.

Draco was right. He did fall asleep on Saturday. But he did it with his head in Vianne's lap, stretched out in front of the hearth in her house, right after she'd fed him lunch. As Harry had predicted, she didn't mind.

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_On a note unrelated to this story, I made some very minor changes to the ending of my Regulus Black story, which is why it supposedly has a new chapter. On a note much more related to this story, I have decided to put up a small group of chapters all at once, which will be coming in a couple of days. I decided to do this because together, they are the climax of the story, and I don't want to break up that energy by posting them separately. The conclusion of the story (a couple more chapters and one final article) will be posted one per day after that. The story should conclude this week. Hope you're ready!_


	32. Chapter 25: A Hotel Room Called Austria

Chapter Twenty-Five

A Hotel Room Called Austria

"Well, it was worth a try," Greg sighed, tossing the letter aside. His brother had replied to his message on a piece of anonymous hotel stationery, telling him that he didn't remember working with any particular student on some of the spells he'd tried to invent. He did mention that he was refining some of that skill in Austria, he'd met some old wizard in a tavern who was showing him a few things.

At least Jack was all right, he reflected. He'd been so worried about his brother, gone for nearly a year already. He'd toured south first, then come back up into Europe. His previous message had mentioned that he might head further east, possibly even into Asia, before returning home. He wondered why Jack was staying at a Muggle hotel, though. Maybe he just wanted someplace quiet.

He picked the letter up again, to see what the hotel was called. Maybe Draco's Muggle friend that he talked to sometimes would be able to look up the hotel on his computer and tell Greg what it was like. Just to give Greg some relief about his brother's health and well-being on his travels. Then he gasped. He blinked, rubbed his hand over his eyes, and looked again.

". . . the hell?" he mumbled. "That's right near Hyde Park, I swear it is. That's _London_."

He racked his brains. His immediate thought was that Jack had found an old piece of stationery in his luggage, from the beginning of his trip, and used it. But Greg dismissed that thought before he'd fully realized it. What reason would Jack have had to stay at a hotel here? When he'd left the house, he'd been on his way to Spain. He'd certainly have no reason to stop over at Knightsbridge.

"Something's not right," he said firmly to the empty room. "Something's wrong." Just saying it like that, so decisively, made it true. He felt a chill up his back, and he immediately headed out of the dungeons, away from the Slytherin dormitories, and went outside to Apparate to a relatively safe place he knew near Tottenham Court Road. He'd have to take the Underground down to Knightsbridge and find the hotel from there. Assuming he could get there without being blown up by a magical booby trap set by Draco's brother.

He hardly noticed the good weather and the number of students swarming the grounds as he headed further from the school, outside the wards. It took his cousin three tries to catch his attention.

"Greg! Greg! _Professory Gregory Kilburne_!"

He turned around. "_What_, Gwynn?"

She stared up at him as if she'd never seen him before. "What's wrong, Greg?"

"Nothing. What do you want?"

"Where are you going?"

"Hyde Park," he said shortly.

"Why?"

"Why not? It's a nice day."

Greg left his cousin staring after him as he resumed his mission. He didn't know what Jack was doing, but if he couldn't calm himself down, Jack was never going to get the chance to explain.

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"Professor Malfoy?"

The voice was incredibly jarring. He was writing a letter to Vianne. He was trying to be as honest as possible. He was telling her that he didn't even know the names of many people who'd been his victims over the course of his service to Voldemort, and after. To have a young girl call his name was startling in the midst of that. Plus, going without sleep made him touchy.

"Shit!" he cursed in surprise. "Gwynn! What is it?"

Gwynn stared at him. "What is _with_ everyone today?"

"I'm sorry," he said, "you startled me. Gwynn, what's wrong?" He jumped to his feet. "They didn't find somebody else, did they?"

"No, professor, nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

"It's my cousin. I think something's wrong."

"Greg? What do you mean?"

"He left."

"What do you mean, left?"

"I was outside with Sarah and Hestia," she gestured to the doorway and he heard two girls talking just outside, "and I saw him leaving. I asked him where he was going, and he said he was going to Hyde Park." The thirteen-year-old pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a nervous habit Draco had noticed before. "It was just really strange. Why would he be going to Hyde Park?"

"In London?"

"I guess. He just left, really fast."

"That's . . . strange."

Fayne Forsythe appeared in the doorway with a somber expression. This was his usual expression, so Draco did not take immediate alarm. He did, however, greet the student with an admonition.

"Fayne, you should know better than to be walking around by yourself."

Fayne took a deep breath, and said, "Headmistress McGonagall needs you in her office, sir."

Draco frowned. "Oh. Well, take these girls back to Ravenclaw, would you please, Fayne?"

"Yes, sir."

He eyed Gwynn with something approaching distaste, and when he saw the other two girls in the doorway, it could almost be called an actual expression on his face. Draco was amazed by the boy's imperviousness to pretty girls near his own age. He, however, had more pressing business. He hurried to McGonagall's office to see her sitting calmly at her desk awaiting him.

"Headmistress?"

She wordlessly pointed at the fireplace. Where sat Greg's head.

"Greg!"

"Draco, thank Merlin."

"Why does your cousin think you're in Hyde Park?"

"Well, I was near there. I stopped in at a friend's house to use the fire. I wanted to contact Harry, but he wasn't there."

"Harry? Why? Greg, just what is going on?"

"You know how my brother is supposed to be in Austria?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, he's not. Unless you want to call his hotel room 'Austria.' I need the Aurors."

"Aurors. Right. What hotel room, Greg? What's going on?"

"My brother's not _in_ the hotel room right now, but some maps of the Underground system are. Oh, and a picture of a guy I think is Harry's cousin. And a picture of you."

"_What_?!"

"I think my brother might be_ your_ brother's tutor," Greg said in a tight, squeezed voice. "I've already given the Headmistress the address. Just hurry. Please."

"I'm on my way. I'll round up the Aurors."

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Harry looked around the hotel room and sighed. He looked at Dan Waverly. "Kinda reminds you of walking into Tyrell's bedroom, doesn't it?"

Dan gave him a grim look in response. Fritz, Draco, and Greg were all wearing similar expressions.

There were maps of the Underground pinned on the wall. Embankment station was circled in blue, then in red. Earl's Court was just circled in blue. Terrence and Kingsley were at Earl's Court now, looking for any trace of either Cross, or, unbelievably, Jackson Kilburne. There was a picture of Dudley on the wall, and a picture of Draco. Both pictures had been mutilated with red ink, and the eyes were crossed out. There were piles and piles of notes on magic, everything from casting a simple Warming charm, to expansive plans on how to break into Malfoy Manor—where Magdalena and a girl barely out of training named Kitty were keeping watch.

"Well, at least there's no pictures of the Boy-Who-Sucked," Dan observed into the silence.

Harry snorted, trying to smother his laughter. This was far from funny, but he'd nearly forgotten about that.

"The what?" Draco asked.

Harry told him about Tyrell's home décor. Draco snorted, too. Greg glared at them, and Draco stepped over to him.

"I'm sorry, Greg," he said quietly, placing a brief touch on Greg's arm. "This doesn't have to be the only explanation."

"It doesn't?" Greg said, sounding derisive.

Harry picked up the thought. "It could be that Cross intercepted your letter to your brother somehow, and decided it would be fun to impersonate him. It doesn't have to mean that Jack is definitely involved in this."

Greg gestured to the stacks of notes piled on every available surface. "Then who's been teaching him all of this?"

"Ah, well . . ." Harry faltered.

"Don't worry, I'm a big boy," Greg said in disgust. "I can handle the truth. And the truth . . ." He looked around the room and shook his head in awe. "Is that my brother is mixed up in some truly disturbing stuff."

"I assume," Fritz spoke up, "that we're all aware that the longer we stay, the less likely anyone will return to the room."

Harry nodded. "I think we've seen plenty. Let's get out of here."

"What are we going to do about this?" Greg asked, his face still angry and horrified as they left.

"Put Dudley and Dan in a room down the hall," Harry answered easily. "They can watch the room until Cross comes back."

"Or Jack," Greg reminded him.

"Yes," Harry agreed uncomfortably.

It didn't make any sense. None at all. How did a kid like Jackson Kilburne get mixed up in a situation like this? And how did a kid as _smart_ as Jackson Kilburne make a mistake like using hotel stationery? This was not adding up at all. Harry didn't like it. If Jack was involved, and it wasn't some trick of Cross's, then it was not going to be a simple explanation. Something weird was going on here.


	33. Article 7

_Negligence With No Excuse_

_By Rosemary Carthy_

A little girl with pale skin and tangled brown curls twitches fitfully on her hospital bed, her eyes shut tight. They haven't opened in nearly two months. Beside her rests a boy no older than she, his glossy black hair grown long enough to hang in his eyes, which haven't opened in close to five months. Beside him rest two boys of fourteen years old who fell victim to the so-called Nightmare Curse within weeks of each other. Their families come to see them often, and they sleep in clean clothes, on clean sheets—exactly as they have for the past seven months.

These four children are the victims of an unknown suspect that most of the investigators agree is a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Seven months later, they are no closer to catching this sadistic child than they were at the beginning. With no leads, they have no hope. Quentin, Barry, Gilbert, and Paulette wait in their tortured sleep for a deliverance that does not seem to be coming.

How can seven months go by without a single clue as to the culprit of these vicious attacks? The answer lies in a case nearly as mysterious: the case of the half-brother of one Draco Malfoy. The entire Auror department at the Ministry of Magic has been dedicated to catching this petty criminal, and the two professors at Hogwarts who have the most to offer to the children stuck in their fearful dreams are busy chasing Maximilian Cross instead.

Cross's existence was revealed in a statement that Malfoy made to the press several months ago. This son of the deceased war criminal Lucius Malfoy was raised in the Muggle world, and made his introducation to the magical community by helping the also-deceased Thomas Tyrell kidnap Matthias Potter last spring. Since that time, Cross has done nothing threatening, yet the Auror force has ignored the much greater problem at Hogwarts to track down Cross.

Many people have left flowers and sent messages of comfort to the families of the students who wait for the attention of those who should have been helping them months ago. Readers of _Witch Weekly, Wandwork Weekly, The Quibbler, _and the_ Daily Prophet_ have all written in to express their condolences and best wishes. Yet the Ministry and their favourites, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, have remained unmoved by these pleas. If the administration is hoping to buy Draco Malfoy's admittedly coveted loyalty by helping him protect his inheritance, they may yet lose the rest of the magical community. Unrest against the Ministry's inept use of the Aurors has been growing to epic proportions recently. There are even rumours of picketing that may take place to show support for the families of the Nightmare Curse victims and express anger over the lack of response.

Minister Scrimgeour will have a long way to go in explaining the Ministry's recent shortcomings, and though Harry Potter remains well thought-of by many witches and wizards, he will soon come under scrutiny as well. How can the Savior of the wizarding world ignore the torment on the sleeping faces of four children for whom he may be their only hope?

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_Stretched Thin_

_By Tabitha Talent_

An article in the new, more subdued issue of the recently-disgraced _Wandwork Weekly_ reported negligence in the Ministry and at Hogwarts on behalf of the four children who have been the victims of the Nightmare Curse. Rosemary Carthy, it would appear based on her ignorance, has lost her source at the school. Our patience with this sort of destructive reporting has been stretched to the breaking point—much like the strength of the Auror squad and Hogwarts professors who have been working so hard to face threats on multiple fronts.

An interview with Madam Pomfrey, the mediwitch in charge of the hospital wing of Hogwarts, revealed an incredible amount of information about what has been happening inside the school, and further abroad. Poppy Pomfrey's first words, anxiously stated for the record, were a reassurance to our community of the amount of support she has received in caring for the four children under her supervision. Several St. Mungo's Healers have visited and made attempts to help the children, as have several Dark Arts experts within the Ministry of Magic. Unsuccessful as the attempts have been, she wished to express her sincere gratitude for the help that has been offered to the students.

Even more important has been the tireless work of the teachers and staff at Hogwarts. Harry Potter is the only one who has been able to come up with even a partial solution to the Nightmare Curse: a method of reducing the strength and number of the dreams the children must endure. He has instructed the entire staff of the school in how to administer it, and the hospital wing receives a steady stream of teachers coming by to ensure that Madam Pomfrey's time remains open to assist all the other students who are in need of healing. Pomfrey wished especially to mention Potter and Malfoy, for whom the hospital wing has become nearly a second home in their quest to help their students.

"They have been here day and night," she said, moved to tears by the dedication of these two professors. "I would feel overwhelmed if not for them and the other teachers. These poor children's own families can't care about them more than Harry and Draco do. And Dorcas (Thumbley, Head of Hufflepuff and Professor of Herbology) comes here in the middle of the night to help them, just so I can get some sleep."

While Pomfrey stated that she could not comment on the rumours about Maximilian Cross, Malfoy's criminal half-brother, she felt comfortable in stating that Malfoy has been extremely worried about the situation and has repeatedly called Cross a terrorist and a murderer. Malfoy himself was unwilling to comment on any of these facts, but stated for the record that he trusted Pomfrey's judgement in granting an interview.

An attempt to contact Harry Potter for an interview was turned down with the explanation that he needed to focus his efforts on stopping the perpetrator of the Nightmare Curse. "Plus, I need to go over my lesson plans for my classes tomorrow," he added ruefully—a reminder to us all that the efforts on behalf of the four victimized students are on top of the demanding schedule of educating the rest of the children at Hogwarts.

The staff at Hogwarts, and the Aurors dedicated to catching Cross before he can cause further harm, deserve our support. They are already stretched thin, and the derisive attitude expressed by Rosemary Carthy and her ilk can only be harmful at this point. If Potter, Malfoy, and the Auror squad are doing nothing to help those children, then what put the exhausted circles under their eyes?


	34. Chapter 26: The Most Unexpected Victim

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Most Unexpected Victim

Matt was eating at the Ravenclaw table with Basil and Milt for the first time in a while. He had been part of the self-appointed team making sure that Ferris was eating and sleeping, but he was off-duty tonight. Basil and Milt were pretty worn out with trying to look after Felicity, too. Samantha and Diane had been staying as far away from the poor girl as they could get, trying to keep themselves from becoming the next victim. Milt was ignoring the whole thing, despite his vulnerability as a wizard with such a weak talent. He was the same sturdy-built and sturdy-minded boy he'd always been, and his guardianship of Felicity was "no big deal."

Basil was a bit more of a paradox. Matt knew how seriously Basil took the situation, but he'd also sort of taken it on himself to be the humourous one of the group. Milt was too solid to crack jokes all the time, Matt too melancholy as a rule, and Basil's naturally cheerful disposition has risen to the occasion. He even managed to make Felicity smile sometimes, despite her fear that she was going to cause her friends to wind up laid out in one of Madam Pomfrey's beds with Barry, Gilbert, Quentin, and Letty.

"What is my sister doing?" Basil said suddenly, looking decidedly less carefree. He frowned over at the end of the Great Hall where he could see Kim standing with Randolph Edwards, talking with seeming innocence.

"Um, talking to Ran?" Matt suggested.

"Obviously, Matt. Why?"

"Because she feels like it, Basil. So what?"

Basil's brow furrowed. "You haven't noticed Ran talking a lot more than he used to? To everyone?"

"Well, we're not all mad at him anymore," Milt said. "It's got to be nice to be _able_ to talk to people."

"Huh," Matt said, watching the two across the room and thinking. "You're right. He's been hanging out with the prefects a lot, Lark and Bran, I mean. Now Kim. That's weird."

"Maybe he wants to be a prefect and he's getting pointers," Milt said, sounding impatient. "Seriously, what's the big deal?"

"Nothing. I just think it's strange," Basil muttered.

They resumed their meal in silence, but they all three _definitely_ noticed when Ran and Kim finished their conversation and Ran immediately looked all the way up at the staff table and nodded at Professor Malfoy, who turned to Professor Harry and started talking. Ran hurried out to get to Quidditch practice.

"Now _that_ is really weird," Milt said, becoming suspicious as well.

Matt giggled. "I know what he's doing."

"You do?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Suddenly Basil laughed, too. "Yeah."

Milt scowled at them. "Laugh it up, guys. What's obvious?"

Kim had walked over to the Slytherin table and said something to Lysander Sorenson, and Milt suddenly smiled. "Oh."

"Exactly," Matt said.

"How did Ran get appointed to organize the prefects into a spy network?" Milt wondered.

Matt jerked his chin toward the staff table. "Professor Malfoy, of course."

Basil nodded, and took a bite of his meal. "No one'll notish if Ran terks ta him," he said with his mouth full. He swallowed. "Since they're already together all the time anyway."

They finished their meal in a somewhat happier frame of mind, proud of themselves for figuring it out and glad to see that the most responsible students in the school were going to such lengths to keep them safe. When they finished the meal, Milt waved a hand to them and headed off to join up with Felicity and Charity Pritchard.

"See you guys, we've got to go to the library and finish our Astronomy homework."

Matt and Basil rolled their eyes. They'd finished their homework yesterday. They headed for the Quidditch pitch, where the Gryffindor team was at practice. They would watch the end of practice, then Matt, Kerry, and Bear would all walk Basil to Ravenclaw Tower. That way, there would still be three of them together on the way back to Gryffindor.

As they headed outside, Basil grabbed Matt's arm. "Look," he hissed.

"What?" Matt whispered back, trying to twist away from Basil's grip. "Ow," he said through gritted teeth.

"Shh. _Look_."

Matt looked. Kim was outside, too, and she was certainly not going to the Quidditch pitch. It looked like she was headed toward the Forbidden Forest.

"What in the name of Merlin does she think she's _doing_?" Basil whispered in horror.

"Come on," Matt said, and set off. "We have to follow her."

"We have to drag her stupid butt back inside, you mean," Basil said.

"Shh. No. Let's just follow her. I want to see what she's doing."

Basil looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. Light-footed and sticking to the shadows of late evening, they trailed Kim to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They hid behind a tree as Kim stopped, looked around, and then whistled. They froze when another figure stepped out to meet her. It was too dark to see who it was.

"Kim?"

"Yeah."

"Could you please tell me why we're talking out here in the forest, at night? Wasn't there any place more comfortable for this?"

"I didn't want to be overheard."

"Overheard? What's going on?"

"It's you, isn't it?" Kim said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're the one who's been attacking the other students. The Nightmare Curse. It's yours."

"Why would you think that?"

Basil and Matt stared at each other in shock. Kim was talking to someone who might be the student attacking them? They held their breath, both of them, as they strained to see who it was. The only thing they could tell for sure was that it was a boy, and that was more by the voice than anything.

"I just . . . I remember you working on something with Jack Kilburne, last year. Something you wouldn't talk about. You two were coming up with this curse."

"If that was true, why would you think it was at all intelligent to confront me about it out here, alone?"

"Because I don't want to get you in trouble, if it's not you. And if it _is_ you . . . please, just stop, okay? Just tell them how to wake those poor kids up. I won't say anything, I swear, if you just stop."

"Why would you even give me that chance?"

"Because," Kim's voice trembled, "I don't want it to be you. You know how I feel about you."

"For a prefect, you really are an idiot, Kim."

"What?" she asked, her voice hurt and pleading.

A stream of something came from the dark smudge of an outstretched arm in the shadows beneath the tree. It wasn't the glow of light that normally came from a wand, and caused no illumination. It almost seemed to suck what little light there was out of the air. A stream of dark, cloudy vapor-like fumes that fell on Kim's face. Kim sucked in a surprised gasp of air, and collapsed on the ground. Her head thunked on the root of a tree, and she didn't move.

Matt clamped his hand over Basil's mouth and his other hand held Basil's arm in a grip of steel. He didn't even know he was strong enough to restrain his friend, but he could almost feel the bruises forming under his fingers as he kept Basil from leaping out and revealing their hiding place. The dark figure barely visible among the trunks of trees whirled around and ran back toward the school.

"Let's go!" Matt hissed, and scurried off to follow him.

"My sister," Basil said in a trembling voice, and left Matt to go to her. Matt was torn. Follow the boy, or stay with Basil?

The boy held the key to waking up their friends—and now family. Matt chased the unidentified figure. He ran toward the school, but the boy was too far ahead to make out even in the glow of lights from a thousand windows. Matt had to get to him before he lost himself in the students inside, but he had to stay far enough back that he wouldn't be noticed. How far was far enough? And why in Merlin's name didn't he know who it was already? He recognized that voice, he knew he did!

"Matt! What are you doing?"

At the shout, the figure up ahead went into a full sprint and flung himself through the doors of the school.

"_Shit_!" Matt shouted, whirling around and glaring at Bear and Kerry in fury.

"Whoa, calm down," Kerry said, scowling.

"Where's Basil?" Bear spoke up, sounding nervous.

"With Kim," Matt spat out. "In the forest. Where she just got hit with the Nightmare Curse."

They stared at him in shock.

"By _whoever_ it was that _just_ ran into the school, who I _would_ have caught if you hadn't _shouted at me, you idiots_!"

"We didn't know," Bear said, standing almost nose to nose with him, not even a little intimidated by his shouting. "Don't yell at me, I didn't curse anyone."

"Sorry," Matt snapped, then crumpled. "I almost had him," he moaned, stepping back out of Bear's face. "I really almost had him."

They all three looked at the doors of the school morosely.

"Sorry," Kerry muttered.

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be when Basil finds out," Matt muttered back. "Bear, go wait with him, okay? Kerry, you come with me, we have to find my dad."

Kerry accompanied him into the school while Bear ran in the direction of Matt's pointing finger. Matt couldn't help but crane his neck and search through the sea of students exiting the Great Hall, even though he knew it was useless. Luckily, Dad was still at the staff table, talking with Professor Kilburne and Malfoy. When he saw Matt and Kerry running toward him, he stood up with a very resigned look on his face.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Kim," Matt panted. "Basil's sister."

"Oh, no," he said, his face falling even further.

"Dad . . . we saw him."

"_What?!_" Dad and the other two professors all shouted in unison.

"Me and Basil. We followed Kim. She went into the forest. She knew who it was, she was talking to him, and then he got her. It was too dark, I couldn't see who he was, and I followed him. I tried, Dad, I really tried to see who it was. But _Kerry_," he said with a vicious look at the other boy, "and Bear, saw me and yelled at me, and he disappeared."

All three professors slumped, again in unison.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Matt whispered.

Dad grabbed him and held him in a hug so tight that Matt couldn't breathe. "I'm not sure whether I should thank you for trying to help or beat you to within an inch of your life for being so reckless," he muttered.

"You could just suffocate me for a while," Matt gasped.

"Sorry," he said, loosening his hold but not letting go. "Draco, Greg, will you go? Matt, are Basil and Bear with Kim?"

"Yeah," Matt wheezed, getting his breath back. "Just inside the forest, past the Quidditch pitch."

"Get them all inside, and make sure Kerry and Bear get back to their dormitories. I want to talk to Basil."

The other two teachers hurried off, Kerry following them, and Dad took Matt to his rooms, the ones he had been sharing with Crash and Charley until Christmas.

"It was a boy?" Dad asked him.

"Yeah. It had to be an older boy, too."

"What makes you say that?"

"Kim said . . . well, she said she was giving him a chance because . . . he knew how she felt about him. I don't think she'd say that to anyone younger than her, right?"

Dad looked even more sad, if that were possible. "Right." He hugged Matt again. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Yeah, me, too." But he started to cry. "What will I say to Basil? He was counting on me. It's his sister."

"He'll know you did your best."

"But we have to stop this, Dad. It's horrible."

"I know. We're trying, Matt. Now, just relax for a minute. Try to think until Basil gets here. You've got to tell me everything you can remember."

The two of them tried. When Basil showed up with Professor Malfoy, the four of them talked and talked, and Basil and Matt went over it a million times. It was no use. It had been too dark, and they'd been too frightened.

A boy, probably older than thirteen, with dark hair. Yeah, that really narrowed it down.


	35. Chapter 27: The Trap Springs

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Trap Springs

Harry had been receiving visits from students all day. The news of Matt and Basil's nighttime adventure had spread around the school, and the realization of how close they had come to catching the culprit had raised wild amounts of excitement and a whole new eagerness to reveal previously held information. Matt and Basil had been personally escorted to every single one of their classes by at least one adult, and they were going to be staying in Harry's rooms with him until the boy they'd seen was finally identified.

Right now, the three students standing in front of him were first year Slytherins who were looking up at him with wide but determined eyes.

"It's not anyone in our house," the blond boy named Rudolph Pope, better known as just Pope, stated.

"Okay . . . how do you know that?"

The two girls looked at each other and giggled nervously while Pope explained. Delilah Pratchett could have been Letty's sister, a petite girl with curly brown hair and snow-white skin. Isabelle Browning had a very exotic look that made Harry want to ask if her family was from somewhere in the South Pacific. He refrained.

"We've been spying on them all year," Pope said, sounding proud of himself. "We've taken turns following every one of the Slytherins since that Waverly kid got attacked. It's not any of them."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Why did you do that?"

"We like being in the_ new_ Slytherin," Delilah said.

"Yeah, we didn't want anyone ruining it," Isabelle added.

Pope nodded. "We know everything's changing, and we just wanted to make sure it stays that way."

"So you took it on yourselves to risk your lives doing it?"

Eleven-year-olds could be so ridiculously stupid sometimes. And yet he was sort of proud of them. Actually, it reminded him of something he and Ron would have done.

"That was extremely irresponsible of you."

"It wasn't our lives," Pope objected.

"Yeah, they'd only curse us," Isabelle agreed.

"Did it escape your notice that the curse does mean your life? Those students aren't dead, but they're not attending classes and chatting with their friends, either."

All three children grew very serious. "We thought it was important."

Harry sighed deeply. "It is important. _You_ are too important to risk on such a silly idea." They looked up at him solemnly, hurt. "Listen. Thank you for working so hard. Really. I'm glad to know that you care so much about this school, and very gratified that you're so interested in the reputation of your house. That is really amazing. I just don't want you three to put yourselves in danger like that. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," the two girls said together.

Pope glowered at him.

"Thanks for your help," Harry repeated, looking at him directly. "Please just promise me that I don't have to worry about you on top of everything else. I absolutely cannot stand to see one more student get hurt."

Pope nodded, looking less belligerent. "Yes, sir."

The three students left, and Harry watched them as far down the corridor as he could. When he came back in and shut the door, Matt and Basil were in the front room waiting for him.

"Stupid kids," Matt said with a wry smile. "Putting themselves in danger like that."

"I haven't forgotten my desire to beat the hell out of you yet," Harry said warningly. "What is it?"

"We remembered something else."

Harry's heart leapt. "What is it?"

"She talked about Jackson Kilburne."

"Kim did?"

"She said he . . . that boy . . . had worked with Jack Kilburne on something. She asked him if they'd come up with the Nightmare Curse together."

Harry dropped into a seat. "Bollocks," he said. His mind raced. "Merlin. It's all connected, it's not separate cases . . ."

"What are you talking about, Dad?"

He didn't want to tell the boys about Jack Kilburne. But finding Cross and Kilburne had now just become even more urgent than it had been before. If they could get their hands on poor Greg's brother, they could force him to tell them who he had worked on his invented spells with. Merlin's balls, he might even _know_ the countercurse.

"I've got Aurors combing the Underground, waiting outside Draco's house . . ." He shook his head. "It's just a matter of time. It's got to be soon. I can feel it."

Matt and Basil looked at each other with confusion and shrugged. Harry didn't really care to explain himself. He toyed with the idea of going to see Draco, but didn't want to leave the boys alone in here. With any luck, Draco would come by to ask him if he'd learned anything new.

The flames in his fireplace sputtered, and began to swirl around. A face came into being. It was Kingsley.

"Harry," he said in rushed voice. "Your cousin sent me a message. They've got them."

Harry leapt to his feet. "Where?"

"Leicester Square. He says it's Cross, and the boy with him sure looks a lot like your friend Gregory Kilburne. They were setting up another Muggle attack. I've already sent Terrence and Dan to help contain them, make sure they don't try anything."

"I'm on my way!" Harry shouted. "Boys, don't move! I'll send someone to watch you."

He tore off down the corridor, his heart practically singing. He ran into Claudette and grabbed her. "Professor, please go watch over Matt and Basil for me. In my rooms. Sorry about this. I have to go."

"Harry, what . . . ?"

She shook her head as he dashed away again, and took herself to Harry's rooms. He went to Draco's office, and thankfully found him there grading papers.

"Draco, we've got them," Harry panted, winded by the run. "Come on."

Draco got up, throwing aside his red-inked quill. "Where?"

"Getting ready to kill another Muggle at the Leicester Square station. Cross and Jack. Let's go."

They ran, and Harry Summoned a couple of brooms on their way out. As soon as they Apparated into London, he cast a hasty Disillusionment charm over both of them and they flew to the scene, invisible in broad daylight just barely above the heads of the pedestrians they were sailing over. When they landed, they carried the brooms downstairs and ducked behind a vending machine to lift the charm. They scurried over to the crowd forming around the swarming police activity, constantly milling around as they were pushed back by the officers. Harry and Draco pushed their way through.

"I said stay back!" Dudley bellowed, his red and outraged face so close they could count his pores. "This is police— oh, it's you."

"When was the last time you brushed your teeth?" Harry asked, darting forward when Dudley let them through.

"When was the last time you slept?" Dudley countered, taking in Harry's gaunt appearance with wide eyes.

"Last November," Draco answered for both of them. "Where the hell is Jack?"

"Over there," Dudley pointed. "He's a bit funny, though."

"Funny? How do you mean?"

"He's acting like he hasn't got a clue where he is or what he's doing. He keeps talking to me like I'm his brother, then Cross will tell him to shut up, and he nearly stops breathing to keep Cross happy."

Harry smacked himself on the forehead as he realized what that meant. "Oh!"

"Holy shit," Draco breathed. "Who taught my thrice-damned brother how to use the Imperius curse?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say Thomas Tyrell," Harry said, as they approached the handcuffed victims. Cross spotted them and opened his mouth.

"_Silencio_," Draco said, sounding almost casual as he pointed his wand. Cross's mouth opened and closed a few times, and he scowled, his face turning beet red. He'd been putting on weight as fast as Draco had been losing it, and their resemblance was less than it had been, despite Draco's return to blond hair.

They both ignored Cross in favour of Jack Kilburne, who stared at them with glassy, confused eyes.

"Jack," Draco said firmly. "You remember me. Professor Malfoy."

His mouth hanging slightly open, he nodded.

"Jack, Cross has you under the Imperius curse. Fight it off. He can't do anything to you now. Fight it. You know you can do it. You're a very strong-willed person, Jack. Nobody can tell you what to do."

"Right . . ." Jack said in a dazed voice. "My own person, Father always said so."

"Exactly. Come on, Jack. Throw it off."

Jack shook his head slowly. Draco stepped up to him, with a sharp look at the officer who was holding him. This was obviously not one of the officers who had been informed of the magical world, by his air of befuddlement. He met the man's eyes briefly, then reached out and delivered a sharp slap to Jack's face.

"Hey," the officer protested, but Dudley was there and shook his head in warning.

"Hey!" Jack said at the same moment, sounding outraged. "What the hell, Professor?" Then his eyes widened, losing their glassy look, and he gasped. "Oh, Salazar's sack." He sagged, and would have gone to his knees if the officer hadn't held onto him. He groaned, and his eyes slid shut. "Noooooo," he moaned. "Oh no, oh no, what have I done?" His eyes opened again and he stared at Draco with pleading. "I . . . I think I killed somebody," he gasped. "Professor . . ." Another onslaught of memories took him, and he groaned and closed his eyes again.

"What is this?" the officer holding him said, looking at Dudley with panic.

"Let me handle this, Pete," Dudley said, gently removing Jack from him. "I need you to go over there and give a statement to the big Black guy in the uh, purple cape." He glared at Harry. "What the blazes is Shacklebolt wearing?"

Harry saw Kingsley and rolled his eyes. "Kingsley! The robe!" he hollered. Kingsley, looking startled, removed it, revealing a perfectly acceptable pinstriped suit. "Terrence, Dan, we're going to need a lot of memories modified," he called out. "You'd better get a couple more people down here."

"Modified what?" the officer named Pete asked Dudley.

"Nothing, Pete. These private investigators are all crazy. Just go talk to the guy in the suit, okay?"

They turned back to Jack, who, left unassisted, had sunk down on the ground and started to tremble. His dark hair spilled out on the dirty floor and he looked sick and shaken. Harry knew Kingsley saw him there, and he felt some relief. Jack wasn't going to be prosecuted for this, and Harry wouldn't have to see Greg's face when he was told his little brother was going to Azkaban.

Draco sat down on the floor next to Jack and rubbed a sympathetic hand on his back. "It's over, Jack. It's over. You're free."

"I killed somebody," he moaned. "A man. He hadn't done anything. But he—Max, he wanted . . . I couldn't do anything. I had to do what he said. He's strong, he wouldn't let me go."

"It's not your fault, Jack. You don't have to listen to him anymore."

Jack reached out and grabbed Draco's arm. "Thank you, sir."

"We should get you to the hospital," Draco said.

"No, please, I just want . . ." He shuddered. "Merlin, I can't believe I'm allowed to want anything. It's been so long."

"Jack!" came a panicked shout. "Move, you git! Where's my brother? Jack!"

"Greg!" he cried out weakly.

Dudley moved forward to clear a space for Greg, who darted through and threw himself on his knees beside his brother.

"Jack, what have you—"

"Greg, don't," Harry said firmly. "It wasn't his fault. Cross has had him under the Imperius all this time."

"Oh," Greg said, dumbfounded.

"I'm so sorry, Greg," Jack said, nearly in tears. "I tried to fight him, I really did."

Greg gathered his brother up into his arms and held onto him. "I know you did," he muttered, trying not to cry himself. "I'm so glad you're safe. I've been so worried. I knew something was wrong. Your letters . . ."

"He made me write those. He told me to convince you I was really in those places. But I'm smarter than him. He's so stupid he didn't notice I wrote that last one on the hotel stationery."

Greg's grip tightened in surprise, and he barked out a laugh. "Jack, you're amazing," he said in a hoarse voice. "Merlin, you're safe."

Draco had stood up, leaving Jack to Greg, and he faced his own brother, who was still trying to yell at him past the Silencing spell. He was providing a great source of amusement to the officers watching him, too.

"We finally caught you, you bastard," Draco said fiercely. "You want to share something with our father? I'll see if I can reserve his old prison cell for you."

Cross mouthed something very rude.

"Yeah, same to you," Draco said. Then he turned his back on Cross and smiled at Harry. "Well, that's a load off my mind," he drawled in such a perfect imitation of his old arrogant way of speaking that Harry blinked at him in surprise.

He put his arm over Harry's shoulder and started walking back toward the Kilburnes. "Who needs that idiot when I've got my real brother right here?"


	36. Chapter 28: The Fate of Brothers

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Fate of Brothers

Harry stood with Draco and watched the Aurors taking Max Cross away. He'd be tried and convicted quickly, Harry had no doubt. Cross hadn't made any big secret of what he'd done. He was worried about Draco, though. Draco looked stony and unforgiving—sort of like his father. Harry told himself he couldn't understand, being an only child himself. But still . . . Draco had called him "brother" only a minute ago.

"Draco?"

"What?"

"You're sort of scaring me."

Draco looked away from Cross and looked at Harry. "Sorry."

"You're shutting down, or something."

"Look, I'm sorry, Harry. I just don't really know how I should feel right now. Would I sound really stupid if I said I wish Vianne were here?"

Harry smiled. "No. However, if you pause for a moment to consider that, you'll probably change your mind. You really want her to see this? Or to see you acting like this?"

Draco managed a small smile back. "Yeah, probably not."

Harry clapped him on the back. "Besides, you said it yourself. Your real brother is standing right here."

Draco made a face. "It sounded way less corny when I said it."

"It's a little weird, is all. I mean, after the number of times we tried to kill each other."

"Apparently, that's pretty normal for brothers. Besides, we haven't even fought recently."

"Leaving aside all the snippy comments everybody's been making lately."

"We've just been tired."

"Yeah, and now this part is over."

Draco watched the Aurors going around modifying the memories of a large number of the policemen present. Dudley was corralling the officers who hadn't been gotten to yet and were looking very upset over what was happening.

"Yeah, Cross is finally going to prison, and Jack's okay." He shook his head as he watched Kingsley trying to stay in control of the proceedings. "I hope the Ministry recruits some new Aurors, though. They're a little understaffed."

Harry frowned. "Yeah."

Draco looked at the man who'd chosen to call him friend despite everything that had made it so impossible, that he had chosen to call brother while watching his blood relation be taken away in restraints. He needed to have a talk with Harry about what Harry was doing with his life. As soon as he got a minute.

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Jack clutched the blanket Greg had draped over his shoulders and stared at the floor with haunted eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"You've been saying that for two hours," Greg said. "I know you are."

"What's going to happen to Max?" Jack asked, looking up at Draco.

Draco's jaw tightened. "He's going to rot in jail."

Jack looked amazed. "He's your brother."

Draco snorted. "Look, I was raised with even more family pride than you were, Jack. I know what he is. Merlin, boy, he had you under the Imperius Curse for close to a year, why are you defending him?"

"I'm not," Jack answered, sounding dazed. "I mean, I'm not trying to. But it's hard to think of him in jail. I know what he sounds like when he snores."

Harry, nearly forgotten at this point, laughed at that.

"Shut up, Harry," Draco snapped. He looked miserable. "I don't care what he sounds like when he snores. I assume you know the colour of his pyjamas and the relative state of health of his toenails, too. I do not care. He kidnapped Matt, he tried to come after me, he broke into my house and stole from me, and he _used_ you. To _kill_ people. I wasn't kidding about seeing to it he had my father's old cell. Lucius would have been proud of him."

"Maybe he deserves another chance," Harry suggested. "You know, like you got. Lucius was proud of you at one time, remember?"

Draco made a sour face. "Does that mean I can beat on him with a pipe and force him to change his identity?" He raised his eyebrow. "I'm starting to like this plan."

"Um, guys?" Jack broke in.

They all turned to him.

"As much fun as it is to contemplate great bodily harm to the guy who did this to me . . . do you mind telling me why you're all here and have to talk to me right now?"

"Yeah," Harry said, coming forward and taking charge. "We need to ask you something about your time at Hogwarts."

"Um, okay."

"I know your memory is going to be a little fuzzy right now, but hopefully not too fuzzy. This is important."

"Okay."

"Does he have to do this right now?" Greg objected.

"Do you think we should leave those kids under that curse any longer than absolutely necessary?" Harry replied.

Greg shut up.

"Jack, when you were at school, did you ever work on a spell that could not only hold a person in sleep, but cause them to have nightmares the entire time they slept?"

"Yeah," Jack said, and a small smile flitted over his face. Then he frowned. "I know it's not a very nice spell. I just sort of . . . wanted to see if I could do it. You know, just an experiment."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah. It was really complicated, too. I tied them together really intricately. You can't stop the nightmares or wake them up without breaking the connection."

"Merlin, Jack," Greg said in surprised consternation. "That's awful."

"And exactly what we've known this whole time," Harry sighed.

Jack shrugged. "I knew it was a dangerous spell, so I didn't teach it to everybody like I did with some of my spells."

"You know how to break the connection, right, Jack?" Draco said anxiously. "You know how to put a stop to your spell?"

"Yeah, of course."

All three men looked at each other and sighed with giddy relief.

"Jack, somebody's been using your spell, and we couldn't do anything for the victims. Quentin Waverly's been under for seven months, nearly the whole time Cross had you. Kim Townsend just happened yesterday."

Jack's eyes flew wide and he paled. "Oh, no." He stood up. "Let's go, I can wake them up."

They all stood up and made for the door, but Harry frowned, and looked at Jack again. "Did anybody work on that spell with you?"

"Yeah, I had—"

"Harry!"

Dan burst into the room.

"Dan, what is it?"

"Harry, it's your son."

"What?"

"He's missing."

Harry went pale and put his hands to his head and moaned.

"Oh, not this again," Draco whispered.

"He's not the only one," Dan said, his face lined with worry. "He and Basil Townsend went missing from your rooms. They went to ask Berengaria Talbott if she'd seen him, but she was missing, too. Their friends started forming up to start looking for them, and it turned out that Ferris Forsythe wasn't there, either. None of them are in the hospital wing. Everybody's getting ready to start searching the forest."

"Ferris Forsythe is missing, too?" Jack spoke up.

"Yes."

"Shit," Jack whispered.

"What?"

"Why would he hurt his own . . .?"

"Jack, what are you talking about?"

"Fayne Forsythe. He's the one who helped me develop that spell."


	37. Chapter 29: A True Gryffindor

_**Attention: This is the chapter for which I issued that warning, way back in the prologue. It is disturbing. Prepare yourself. This chapter is rated M. My apologies to those of you who read this chapter without being warned.**_

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

A True Gryffindor

"Thanks for springing us, Bear," Matt said uncertainly, "but I don't think Basil and I should leave until Dad gets back."

"Don't be stupid, Matthias Potter. I'm not springing you, I need you!"

"What's going on?"

"I can't _believe_ your dad _and_ Professor Malfoy are _gone_!"

"Bear! What is it?"

"I can't find Ferris."

"He's not with Letty?"

"No."

"Well, let's go find him, then," Matt said, dragging Basil with him. "Hurry up, Basil."

"We really should not be doing this," Basil muttered.

"If Ferris is missing, it could mean that whoever is so mad at the Forsythes has started attacking them directly."

"All the more reason to stay put until your dad gets back."

"By the time he gets here, whoever it is will be right back in his own common room and looking totally innocent," Bear snapped. "If we hurry, maybe we can catch him."

"Have I ever mentioned that I really hate you guys?" Basil sighed.

"Do you want to help your sister or not?"

Basil lunged at Bear, and Matt stepped in between them. "This is not the time."

"Do _you_ think I don't want to help Kim?"

"No, I just don't want to see you get your ass handed to you by a girl," Matt said peevishly. "Now hurry _up_."

"Where are we going?"

"The forest, of course."

"What makes you think they're out there?"

"Because we know Ferris," Bear said. "He'd go straight to where the last attack happened to look around. He wants to save Letty."

"And why do you think the Curser will go out there again?"

"Because Ferris is less protected than you and Matt are right now, and even more determined to find the guy. Preemptive strike."

They ran outside and across the empty Quidditch pitch pell-mell, panting for breath and hoping to get there before anything happened to Ferris. They skidded to a halt at the edge of the forest and crept forward as quietly as they could.

"We all have a wand, right?" Matt whispered.

"Yes. Shhh."

They all heard the voices at the same moment, and looked at each other with excitement and fear. They continued to creep forward.

"What is your problem?" Ferris shouted. "You are such a sick freak!"

"That's not very nice, Ferris," came the much calmer voice, the voice Matt and Basil had heard before. Somehow, the light of day made it all so clear.

"_Fayne_?" Basil whispered in a strangled voice. His face was horrified. "My sister _likes_ that humourless git?"

"Not really the point here, Baz," Bear muttered. "Shut up."

The three of them stayed just out of sight, listening.

"Oh, and cursing five people to have nightmares forever is really nice, Fayne."

"What makes you so sure it's me?"

"Because I know what a complete disgusting bastard you are."

"I see. Now we've gone to petty name-calling. And here I thought you were growing up, Ferris."

"Is that why you did Letty?" Ferris growled, his voice so angry that Matt was sort of glad he couldn't see him. "I'm too old to have girls for friends anymore?"

"You're quite intelligent when you try, dear brother."

"Letty was my _girlfriend_, you freak!"

"Even more motivation. You are not to have a girlfriend."

"Oh, am I supposed to save myself for— for the girls you've already had?"

"Ferris, we've talked about this before. We have to take very drastic measures to make sure our bloodline stays pure. If even the Malfoy family has stopped believing in the power of pureblood status, it's going to be extremely difficult to salvage it."

"Don't you think your measures might be just a little _too_ drastic?"

"No, I don't."

"I beg to differ."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Why don't you ask Faith and Felicity how they feel, Fayne?" Ferris shouted.

"Is it just me," Basil said in a very quiet voice, looking at Matt with a frown, "or does this conversation keep getting more confusing?"

"I'm not sure I like where this is going, either," Matt agreed, checking his grip on his wand. His hand was sweating. He wiped it on his robe.

Bear was silent. Her face was white.

"Our sisters are pureblooded witches. They know how important that is."

"I don't think they really give a flying fuck," Ferris snarled. "I think you've just scared them so badly they don't know how to put up a fight anymore."

"Fight? They've never fought this."

"Oh, they haven't," Ferris said in the most bitterly sarcastic voice Matt had ever heard. "Of course not. My mistake. I must have been seeing things."

"What are you talking about?"

"If they've never fought this, then why was Faith screaming and crying and trying to get away from you? Is that kind of the way Felicity never fought, too?"

"They did express some measure of uncertainty at first," Fayne said calmly. "They've come around."

"I repeat: they're too afraid of you to fight anymore."

"If you think that . . . why aren't you afraid me?"

"Well, you haven't _raped_ me, at least not yet. Is that coming, Fayne? Is that part of your great pureblood plan?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Fayne snapped.

The three friends hiding in the trees looked at each other in horror. Bear's face had gone from white to gray. Matt wiped the sweat from his palms again. Basil's hands were starting to shake.

"Please tell me I didn't hear that," he muttered.

"You raped my sisters, you disgusting creep," Ferris said, and he sounded like he was crying. "You _raped_ my _sisters_!"

"I did not rape them. I convinced them that there was only one way to preserve the purity of our blood, and they were perfectly willing."

"They were _not fucking willing_! And I don't care if they were! It's still _sick_!"

"They are the only girls worthy of my attentions . . . or yours, Ferris. Your little friend Paulette is certainly not. You are not going to destroy my plans. Not that idiot Waverly, not Knowles, and if that Slytherin boy thought he could so much as _look_ at our sister—"

"And Kim Townsend, Fayne?"

"She was not worthy of my attentions, either," Fayne said stiffly. "Besides, she knew too much."

"That curse you're using . . . it's wrong, Fayne. It's just as bad as what you've done to Faith and Felicity."

"I'm afraid if you don't desist with this nonsense, I'm going to have to use it on you, too."

"Right, Fayne. You're not going to do anything to screw up your plans, and I'm part of them."

"You are not as intelligent as I hoped you were, if you think being my brother will save you," Fayne said, so softly Matt almost didn't hear him. "I don't really need you, Ferris. I can continue our bloodline with our sisters without your help."

"Just try it, you evil bastard," Ferris growled.

Matt and Basil looked at each other and nodded. They leapt out from behind the tree and saw Ferris and Fayne pointing their wands at each other. They couldn't be more completely opposite. Ferris on fire with rage and hatred, Fayne cold and haughty. Ferris' hand shaking, Fayne looking perfectly composed as always. They didn't see they had an audience.

"_Stupefy_!" Ferris shouted.

Fayne blocked it with ease. "Don't be stupid, Ferris," he said, and the stream of smoky darkness trailed out of his wand, mesmerizing Ferris for a moment.

"_Stupefy_!" Matt shouted, and Fayne flew back into a tree with a thunk of impact.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Basil added for good measure, and the body that hit the forest floor was rigid as a board.

Ferris was still trembling with anger and disgust. The first thing he felt when he saw his friends was shock and dismay.

Bear rushed out from behind her tree, and she ran straight to Fayne. She started kicking his body with her very impressive strength, spitting on him and calling him every foul name she could think up and a few she appeared to be inventing on the spot. Matt rushed up behind her and grabbed her.

"Bear, Bear, stop it!" he shouted.

She did, and turned to him with a face contorted with rage. "He deserves it."

"He probably does. But let's leave him for the adults, all right?"

Then, with trepidation, they turned to Ferris. Ferris was on his knees, his face buried in his hands. They all knelt down around him, and Matt and Bear both put an arm over him.

"It's all right, we've got him."

"I've known—" he sobbed. "He's so— I should have— He's my _brother_, but I should have—"

"You did, Ferris. You stood up to him."

"I should have told somebody."

"I don't blame you, mate," Basil muttered. "I would have kept it to myself, too."

"But I knew he was the one, I knew he was cursing them. Ever since Letty . . ."

"It's over now, Ferris. It's over."

Ferris lifted his face from his hands and his face was raw with grief. "Tell that to Faith," he whispered.

"What— what do you mean?" Matt stammered.

"She's pregnant," Ferris whispered hoarsely, his eyes on the stiffly unconscious body of his older brother. "I should have saved her. I should have saved them both. And now Faith . . ." He fell to weeping again.

"Stay with him," Matt muttered. "I'm going to go find my Dad. I don't care if he's in bloody Hong Kong, he needs to get back here now."

"But Matt, you shouldn't be alone— oh. Never mind," Bear said painfully.

Matt broke clear of the forest just in time to see his father come racing toward the school from the edge of the wards.

"Dad!" he screamed. "Dad!"

"Matt!" he screamed back, turning around and running toward his son. "They said you were missing, are you all right?"

"Dad . . ."

He fell into his father's arms.

"Dad, it's Fayne. Fayne's the one who's been cursing everyone."

"I know. Jack told us."

"Jack?"

"He's been under the Imperius curse. I'll explain later. You're all right, aren't you?"

"Fayne's not," Matt said grimly. "He hit a tree when I Stupefied him and I knocked him out. Basil froze him, just in case."

"Where?"

"In the forest. This way." But Matt held onto Dad's hand, held him back from going too fast. "Dad . . . Ferris fought with him. We heard the whole thing."

"Is Ferris all right?"

"Well, not really," Matt hedged.

Dad stopped and looked at him. "Matt, what is it?"

Matt could feel his face turning very red. "They were fighting because Fayne raped his sisters."

Dad made a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Are you sure?"

"Well, the seventy-eighth time Ferris called him a sick freak sort of convinced me." Matt bit his lip. "He said Faith is pregnant."

"Merlin's hairy old— um, darn it. Darn it very much."

Matt allowed Dad to lead the way into the forest then. He looked at Fayne, laying on the ground with blood trickling from the side of his head, and he turned away to kneel down in front of Ferris. Matt was pretty sure that Dad was blocking Ferris' view of his brother on purpose.

"Are you all right, Ferris?" he asked gently. "Did he hurt you?"

Ferris shook his head. "No," he whispered. His face crumpled yet again. "He hurt . . . he . . ."

"Matt told me," Dad said, and he pulled Ferris into his arms. "We'll take care of everything, Ferris. We'll help your sisters. They're going to be okay. We'll take care of them."

Ferris shook his head against Dad's shoulder miserably. "Faith is pregnant."

"I know. Things are going to get better now."

"I should have kept them safe. I should have stopped him."

"I kind of thought that's why you were out here in the forest."

"Matt and Basil stopped him, not me."

"Well, that's the way we Gryffindors fight," Dad said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Didn't you know that? We always bring friends to back us up. Merlin, I thought you'd know that, and you a Gryffindor yourself."

"I didn't want to be in Ravenclaw. Not with _him_."

"I'm really proud of you for standing up to him, Ferris."

Ferris pushed away from Dad, and looked at Matt and Basil and Bear. "Thanks," he muttered, then he ran away. He ran toward the edge of the forest, back toward the school. Matt started to chase him, but Dad put a hand on him.

"Let him go. He needs a minute alone."

Through the trees, there came the solid noise of flesh meeting flesh, and the "oomph" of two people with the breath knocked out of them.

"Ferris, are you all— right . . ."

Professor Malfoy came into the forest with a puzzled look.

"Is Ferris supposed to be running away?"

"Yeah, let him go," Dad said. "I could use some help with this, though," he said, pushing Fayne's body with his foot.

Professor Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "Nice. Matt, I think I recognize your handiwork here."

"Sick bastard," Matt said, nudging Fayne possibly a little harder than his father had.

"Well, let's get him squared away. I want to be there when they wake up the kids, just in case something goes wrong."


	38. Article 8

_Terrorist Plot Discovered_

_Fatalities in Leicester Square_

Two men were discovered in the Leicester Square station yesterday afternoon setting up an attack similar to the attack at Embankment station last Tuesday. Last week's attack resulted in the death of V. Bridges, a 42-year-old stock broker in the city. The planned attack at Leicester Square yesterday should have resulted in other fatalities of ordinary citizens, but police officers were patrolling the area and were able to halt the two terrorists before they could carry out their plans.

One of the two was a local man named Maximilian Cross, who was convicted of auto theft several years ago and spent time in prison. The other was a foreign man who has not yet been identified. Both terrorists attempted to resist the police and attempted to arm the explosive device they had rigged in the station. Due to the resulting confusion, the device went off while Cross and the unidentified second man were holding it, and both terrorists were killed in the explosion.

There were no police fatalities and no civilians were harmed. The police captain issued a statement calling the deaths of the two criminals "a tragic incident." He further said that if the two men had submitted to the officers on the scene, they "would certainly be alive to face justice for the death of Mr. Bridges."

Bridges' widow was not available for comment.

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_The Nightmares Are Over_

_Two Criminals Face Justice_

_By Geoffrey Puck_

Yesterday in Leicester Square in London, the half-brother of Draco Malfoy was captured attempting to kill his second Muggle victim. The Muggle police found him setting a magical trap and contacted the Auror office immediately. The Aurors were impressively quick to respond, and Maximilian Cross was brought directly to Azkaban to await a trial before the Wizengamot and a final sentencing. There were rumours of a second criminal that was not apprehended, but nothing was confirmed, and it has been dismissed by the Ministry as mere fear-mongering.

The same day, the student responsible for the Nightmare Curse was discovered at Hogwarts. While Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy rushed to London to ensure that Cross did not escape the Muggle police, several students confronted a boy identified as Fayne Forsythe and were able to overpower him to await the help of an adult. The students who discovered and stopped Forsythe have not been identified, but most reports indicate that Matthias Potter, son of Harry Potter, was among them. Forsythe was taken to Azkaban to await a trial.

It has been reported that the victims of the Nightmare Curse were revived yesterday, but security at Hogwarts is at an all-time high. Headmistress McGonagall's only statement to the press was that she is "locking the doors to keep the vultures out." There is no word yet on the recovery of the students, and the Ministry has refused to comment on whether Fayne Forsythe will be tried as an adult or an underage wizard.

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_Whee! Wasn't that fun? So, there are still 3 chapters to go, and one final article. This will tie up all the loose ends, and conclude on a somewhat happier note. You have to keep reading, because I'm saving Rosemary Carthy's last appearance (hee hee) for the final chapter. I will post the last update to this story on Sunday, and I hope you stick with me until then!_

_Cheers!_

_Faren_


	39. Chapter 30: Waking Nightmares

Chapter Thirty

Waking Nightmares

"One at a time," Harry agreed in response to Draco's suggestion.

"Quentin first?"

"Seems only fair."

They nodded at Jack. Jack cast the spell that destroyed the complex link in the curse.

"Oh, Merlin, of course it would be that easy," Harry mumbled. He beat Jack to the rest, using the same old spell he'd been using for months to end the nightmares. Quentin's body immediately went slack. He woke Quentin up just as easily.

Quentin opened his eyes and mouth at the same moment and started screaming. They all jumped back in surprise. The scream ended when he ran out of breath, but he just sucked in another breath and screamed again. Dan was right there, and he grabbed his son by the shoulders, putting his face in front of Quentin's anxiously.

"Quentin!" he shouted over his son's screams. "Quentin, it's me, it's Dad!"

Quentin didn't respond to him. He kept screaming. Dan shook him by the shoulders and called out frantically. It didn't help. Quentin was past the point of seeing what was in front of him. He screamed endlessly. Dan began sobbing helplessly, still shouting his name to no avail.

"_Silencio_!" Harry cried, and Quentin's screams became silent. The air rang with them nevertheless. He stared at the ceiling, seeing something only he could see, and his silent screams were somehow more heartbreaking than the ear-shattering ones. Dan cried. Harry was exceptionally glad they had decided not to allow Hestia to be here. Technically, they had planned to contact all the families when the kids were already awake and recovering, but Dan had been there throughout all this investigation and Harry couldn't bring himself to keep Dan away.

Draco approached the bed and nodded at Dan while looking at Harry. Harry pried Dan off his son so that Draco could carefully force a Dreamless Sleep potion down Quentin's throat. He went slowly, making sure the boy didn't choke. Quentin's eyes slid shut again, and his body relaxed.

"No!" Dan shouted. "How can you do that? He's been sleeping— for so long—"

"Dan," Harry said, renewing his grip on his friend. "Dan, he's not dreaming now. Give him a little time. You don't know what he's been through. This might be good for him. It might be good for him to sleep when he doesn't have to have the nightmares anymore."

"I want to _talk_ to him!" Dan howled.

Harry hugged Dan against him until Dan stopped struggling and turned a little to cling to Harry and cry.

"My boy," he moaned. "I just wanted him to wake up."

"He will," Harry said soothingly. "He just needs time." He hugged Dan and tried not to feel embarrassed by it. "He's going to be fine, Dan. We've broken the curse, we've got all the time in the world to help him."

Dan nodded, and finally released Harry. "Let's . . . let's help the others." His voice trembled.

"Dan, maybe you should go," Harry suggested in a low voice.

"No, I want to be here with Quentin," he said. "But please, wake the others up."

"All right," Harry agreed cautiously. But he stayed by Dan and watched Jack and Draco wake Barry. They were all prepared for Barry to start screaming. Barry didn't.

Barry's eyes blinked open, and fixed on the ceiling above him. He didn't move. His body, rigid and tossing in sleep for nearly seven months, was slack now. His eyes stared up at the ceiling and did not look around the room at all.

"Barry?" Draco said cautiously. "Barry, it's Professor Malfoy. Can you hear me?"

Barry didn't acknowledge him. Draco waved his hand in front of Barry's eyes, but Barry's eyes did not follow the movement.

"Shit, shit, and triple shit," he muttered. "Well, give him a minute. Maybe he'll come around."

"Yeah," Jack said, licking his lips and raising a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Seeing what his experiment was responsible for was not the way he would have chosen to spend the day recovering from a year spent under the Imperius Curse. "Yeah, let's help this one," he said, standing beside Gilbert Wraven's bed. He cast the spell to untie the knot in the curse.

Greg finished the work, thinking his face would be the most familiar was Gilbert came around. Gilbert opened his eyes, and sat up with a shocked breath. His eyes darted around the room wildly.

"Gilbert, it's me, Professor Kilburne." Greg laid his hand cautiously on Gilbert's arm.

Gilbert jerked away with a hissing noise. "Don't touch me!" he shrieked. "Don't touch me!"

"Okay, Gilbert, I won't touch you. See? I'm not touching you. Gilbert. Do you know who I am?"

Gilbert looked at Greg and nodded slowly, his long black hair flopping in his eyes. "Yes, sir." Then he started shivering violently. "Stay away," he said fiercely. "Don't touch me."

"I'm not going to. I'm just going to sit here, okay? I'm just going to sit by you until you're feeling better."

"Where's my brother?"

"He's not here right now. We didn't want you to see him until we were sure you were okay."

Gilbert was still shivering. "I don't want to see him."

"Gilbert, he's been really upset. Really upset. He loves you."

"I don't care. I don't want to see anyone. Leave me alone, all of you, leave me _alone_!" The last word was a shriek, and he glared at Greg until Greg stood up slowly and backed away.

"Is that better?"

Gilbert nodded, shaking badly still. His hands clutched his blanket with white knuckles.

"Are you cold?"

"Yes. But I don't want help," he said, still vicious. "Leave me alone."

"Can I give you another blanket?"

"Fine," Gilbert growled.

"Here you go, then," Greg said, holding out an extra blanket that Gilbert snatched quickly. "Will you stay there and keep quiet while we wake up the other students?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then we'll leave you alone."

But Greg stayed by Gilbert, just in case.

Jack and Draco moved on to Letty, feeling marginally better now that Gilbert had woken up at least mostly lucid. Draco positioned himself to be the first thing Letty saw and woke her up. She sat up with a shriek, and Harry's heart sank, thinking Letty would be another one like Quentin. Instead, she locked eyes on Draco and threw herself onto him. He caught her up in his arms, surprised.

"Letty, are you all right?"

"I knew you'd come, Professor," she said, breaking into sobs and burying her face in his neck. "I was so scared, but I knew you'd save me."

"Shh, you're all right now, Letty. Everything's fine. Shhh." He ran his hand through her tangled hair and held her tightly while she cried.

"I knew you'd come," she repeated over and over. "I knew you'd save me."

Draco sat on the bed and pulled Letty into his lap. He held her close and cuddled her while she spent out her tears, petting her hair and whispering comfort to her. After she stopped crying, she simply lay in his arms, not looking like she had plans to move anytime soon.

Jack woke Kim on his own, cautious and hesitant. Kim had only been asleep since yesterday, and when she woke with a gasp, she immediately recognized Jack and shot up out of bed.

"Jack, I can't believe you invented that stupid curse!" she shouted. "You and Fayne think you're so smart!"

Then she looked around the room and realized where she was. Her face burned red. "Oh." She turned her wide eyes on Jack. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Just since yesterday."

"Did you get Fayne, did you know it was him?"

"Relax, Kim," Harry spoke up. "Everything's under control."

Her face fell. "What's going to happen to Fayne?"

"He's been arrested."

"Is everyone else okay?"

"Mostly."

Kim looked around the room again. "Aren't you going to wake up Quentin?"

Dan started to cry again.

"We did. He . . . he's not doing too well. He's going to need a while to recover. He and Barry were under for a long time."

Kim looked at Barry and her hand covered her mouth. "Oh, no." She looked at Gilbert and Letty, who were obviously better off than the other two. "Are you all right?" she asked in a squeaky voice.

"Fine," Gilbert answered sullenly.

"I'm okay," Letty said. Then she gasped. "Oh no! How long was I cursed? Professor Malfoy, have I been asleep for a long time?"

"For about two months," Draco answered, still holding her. She jerked in his arms. "I'm sorry, Letty."

"Is Ferris okay?"

"He's not very happy, but he's not hurt."

"I need to see him," Letty said, trying to get up. She got as far as standing up, then her face drained and she fell backward. Draco caught her neatly and laid her out on the bed again.

"You can see him later, sweetheart," he said. "I think you'd better rest first."

"I'm hungry," she said in a very quiet voice. "I think I'm going to throw up."

Madam Pomfrey, up till now waiting wordlessly in the corner, jumped up. "I thought you might be," she said, happy to be of some use at last. "I made up a couple of trays." She bustled over with soup keeping hot under a Warming charm, and soda crackers. "Here now, you eat all of that, do you hear me?"

"I will," Letty said agreeably. Draco got up to make room for the tray, but Letty grabbed his hand. "Don't leave, Professor. Please?"

"All right," he said, sitting down again. "But shut up and eat."

She laughed. "I guess things haven't changed much in the last couple of months."

"Gilbert, are you hungry?" Madam Pomfrey asked the paranoid, sullen boy.

He looked tortured for a moment. "Yes. But . . ." He peered suspiciously at the tray identical to the tray she'd given to Letty—who was already slurping her soup with enthusiasm. "I don't want that."

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything."

"I thought you were hungry," she said in exasperation.

Gilbert folded his arms over his chest and glowered. "I changed my mind."

Madam Pomfrey muttered in annoyance and gave the tray to Kim, who was still shooting Jack a lot of dirty looks whenever she wasn't looking at Barry and Quentin and nearly crying. Kim sat down and took the tray with perhaps a bit more decorum than the other girl. She spooned a few mouthfuls of soup neatly, nibbled on a cracker, and put the tray aside with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," she said to Madam Pomfrey. "I just . . . can't eat right now." She returned to glaring at Jack. "Why would you invent something so awful?" she asked him.

Jack shrugged miserably. "I don't know, I just . . . wanted to see what I could do."

"You're such an idiot," she huffed. Then she ran her hands through her hair and started walking across the room with dignity. "I'm going to find my brother and tell him I'm okay," she announced. "And yes, Madam Pomfrey, I will eat and get some rest."

The mediwitch snapped her mouth shut and tried to look like she hadn't been meaning to say any such thing. It didn't work very well. Letty paused in her rapid consumption of soup to giggle. A little bit of colour was returning to her face, but she jerked anxiously anytime Draco moved the slightest bit.

"Merlin," Harry murmured. "I was hoping this would be the end of it all."

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Matt approached Ferris carefully and stood next to him without saying a word. Together, they watched the orderlies from St. Mungo's transporting Quentin and Barry out of the hospital wing. They were going to the long-term ward at St. Mungo's. They were keeping Quentin sedated and Barry still hadn't even looked at anyone. No one knew how long it would be before they'd recover—or _if_ they would. At least the other kids were doing better than this. Kim was great, other than having to deal with the fact that she'd been attacked by the boy she'd liked (especially considering said boy had eyes only for his own sisters). Letty and Gilbert had to stay in the hospital wing for a few days and eat a lot (and thank Merlin that Gilbert had finally consented to eat) but they thought they'd be okay, too. It was just Barry and Quentin . . .

"This is my fault," Ferris said.

"No, it isn't. It's Fayne's."

"I could have stopped him a lot sooner."

"Look, Ferris, you can keep saying that. Is it easier than admitting you were afraid of him and afraid of what would happen to your sisters?"

Ferris trembled. "I guess."

"Sorry to sound so harsh, but I'm tired of listening to you blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault just because you don't want to deal with what happened."

Ferris looked at Matt in amazement. Then he smiled, almost. "Thanks. I think."

"What's going to happen to Felicity and Faith?"

"I'm not sure. They're in there right now, with Letty and Gilbert, just to give them a place to be away from everybody. I don't think they'll want to go back to school. Not since everyone knows now."

"What about . . ." Matt swallowed, and tried again. "What about Faith's baby?"

"I don't know."

"Ferris, have you even talked to them?"

"No," Ferris whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid to."

"Don't you think they might like to know one of their brothers is sane and willing to stand up for them?"

Ferris sniffed, and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Maybe."

"Come on. I know you want to see them, and Letty. I'll go in with you."

Matt had to drag Ferris forward. He was met by one of the strangest sights he had ever seen, and that was saying something. Professor Malfoy was standing in front of the bed on which the Forsythe girls were sitting, his arms spread out like he was protecting them. He was facing off against a middle-aged man wearing the robes of a Healer who had his hands held in front of him as if to show he meant no harm. It looked like he was trying to keep the girls away from a dangerous criminal or something, but it was obvious the man was a Healer.

"Not you," Professor Malfoy was saying. "Couldn't they send anyone but you?"

"I am a well-qualified practitioner of mental health," the man said in the calm tones of one who had confronted irrational people before. "I am perfectly suited to talk to these poor girls."

"Hah," Professor Malfoy retorted. "Likely they'll wind up more confused than they already were, you utter quack."

"If this is about that Carthy woman," the man began, but was cut off.

"This is about the fact that you think you can call good men child abusers, and say that I'm having some kind of illicit romance with my best friend, without having a clue what you're talking about!" Professor Malfoy snapped. "Come near these girls with your bullshit and see what happens!"

"I'm gonna guess that's Warbeck Wackerford," Ferris said. "Merlin, the professor looks like he's trying to hold off an enraged werewolf."

Matt couldn't help it, even knowing how vastly inappropriate it was. He cracked up laughing and didn't stop for a ridiculously long period of time. Everybody was facing their demons this week, apparently.

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_I'm going to take one last opportunity to tell you: read my other story, read my other story! I want reviews on A Supplication For a Forgotten Soul! Pleeeeeeaaaase?_


	40. Chapter 31: Futures

Chapter Thirty-One

Futures

Harry looked down at Ferris Forsythe and tried to smile. "Thank you again, Ferris," he said. "You really did do your house proud this year, you know."

It was the end of the term. Ferris was the only member of his family still at Hogwarts. Faith was six months pregnant and still deep enough under her brother's influence to consider the baby a blessing rather than a curse. Her parents were too upset by the whole thing for her to even go home, so she was staying with relatives in the country. Felicity had made the attempt to stay at school, but the watchful eyes and whispers behind her back proved too much, even with Basil and Milt at her side like bodyguards. Diane was too upset by the problems in her own family to be of much use to her old friend, since her aunt and uncle for some reason refused to believe that her cousin had really been Imperiused and Jack was having to stay with her parents.

The aftermath of all this crap was almost worse than the actual incidents, Harry thought with regret. Gilbert Wraven rarely overcome his paranoia long enough to attend his classes or come to the Great Hall to eat. He was like a shadow of himself, or a new ghost to haunt the Slytherin common room. He had moved into the room that his older brother shared with Apollo Sorenson, where Niles could keep an eye on him. And Ferris . . . he had walked through school for the last two months with a cold pride that wouldn't allow his friends near him, his head held so high he couldn't seem to see Letty, who grieved at losing her friend even though both of them were right there beside each other. He hadn't been any help to Felicity, who'd gone to join her sister in the countryside rather than have to watch her twin self-destruct little by little.

Now Ferris was set to go back home, the only child to be living with his parents for the whole summer. Harry couldn't let him go without at least trying to bring some life back to the formerly good-natured boy.

"There aren't many students that would have been brave enough to stay, you know. I'm really proud of you for facing all of them and not letting it get to you."

Ferris gave him a disgusted look. "Please. My brother is in jail because he got my sister pregnant, something I could have prevented if I hadn't been such a coward. You think having people _talk_ about me is all that big of a problem?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, it was for me."

"What are you talking about?"

"My fifth year here."

"What happened?"

Harry was encouraged. This was the first real interest Ferris had shown in anything for the last two months.

"I saw Voldemort kill a boy I knew, and then he used my blood to create a new body for himself, so he could return to power. Then, of course, no one believed me. I told them all what happened, and they said I was crazy. Plus this evil hag who used to work for the Ministry took over the school, and actually tortured me because she was a sadistic freak. Here, look," he showed Ferris the back of his hand, which still showed very faint scars from the lines she'd made him write. "Of course, she ended up in Azkaban when the Ministry finally had to deal with the fact that she'd been doing this to children. But that was a bad year, anyway. One of my own dorm mates thought I was a nutter. He kept waiting for me to go wild or something."

"What happened to him?"

"He came around. Everyone had to, after the Minister himself saw Voldemort, but thankfully Seamus came around before that." Harry sighed. "He's dead, now. He was killed in the war."

"A lot of your friends died back then, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"But you lived, and you defeated Voldemort. Because it was your destiny or something."

"Well, I really did it because I had a lot of people to avenge and a lot more people to protect. But yeah, destiny was a part of it."

"How have you been doing it?" Ferris asked him, looking away.

"Doing what?"

"Putting up with everyone always watching you, and that stupid lady writing all those articles about you. How can you stand it?"

Harry smiled. "I ignore as much of it as I can. I try to think of it this way: so long as I know I've done the right thing, what they write about me doesn't matter. Everyone's got a different expectation that they want me to live up to. If I can only keep one person happy, it ought to be me."

Ferris shook his head. "I can't. Keep myself happy. I don't know I've done the right thing, or any of that."

"Of course you did," Harry said. "You stood up to your brother and you put an end to what he was doing."

"But I was too late. I wouldn't have put a stop to anything if Basil and Matt hadn't been there."

"It's like I keep telling you, Ferris. That's just how we Gryffindors fight."

"I'm not brave, sir. Not like you."

"Eh, give it some time. I was more stupid than brave when I was twelve. You've done really well just making it through this year. I don't think anyone expected you to stick it out."

"I wanted to make sure Letty would be okay."

"She'd be a lot better if her friend would talk to her."

Ferris dropped his eyes. "I keep forgetting that it's safe to do that. I . . ."

"I understand," Harry said quietly. "He's your brother, whether you like it or not. It makes a difference."

"It shouldn't," Ferris said fiercely.

"Maybe you're right, but it always does." Harry was thinking of the times over the last few months when he'd seen a look of pain flash over Draco's face, pain when there was nothing to cause it. Harry figured that was when he was thinking of Max Cross, who wouldn't see the outside of Azkaban until that blond hair they shared had turned to silver.

"Come on, you better get to packing," Harry said at last, when nothing else seemed forthcoming from Ferris. "The train will be leaving tomorrow."

Ferris chewed his lip. "I don't really want to go home. I want to see them. My sisters."

"Why don't you go see them, then?"

"I'm afraid they don't want to see me. Felicity said she wished she could stay with me, but maybe she changed her mind."

"You could try writing to her and finding out."

"Yeah. I will. I have to. I'm a Gryffindor. We're supposed to be more brave than we are intelligent."

"Don't let your head of house hear you say that," Harry warned.

"What, the guy who rushes into danger ahead of everyone else just because he thinks he deserves the trouble more than anyone else?"

Harry laughed aloud, startling Ferris, but then the boy joined in, and Harry thought he might have helped.

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"You're not coming back next year, are you?" Draco said, watching Harry pack.

Harry set aside what he was doing to face his friend. "No."

"I didn't think you would."

"You didn't? Why not?"

"Because you're an Auror. It's what you're born to do. I mean, you _can_ teach, but you _live_ to go around saving people."

Harry shrugged. "Who am I to argue with fate?"

Draco smiled. "I'll bet the kids will be glad to have you home."

"Ginny says they're climbing the walls."

"Is she happy to have you home?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. She's promised it will be a very _memorable_ homecoming. She's taking the kids to their grandparents."

Draco shuddered mockingly. "Ugh, I did not need to know that."

"What, Vianne won't be glad to spend some quality time with you?"

"I will have you know that we enjoy an extremely chaste relationship," Draco said with dignity. "Mostly because I'm still trying to convince her that she cannot possibly want a penniless teacher with a criminal record."

"Draco, you're hardly penniless," Harry laughed. "Or did you forget you're the heir of the Malfoy family?"

"Well, I admit I've got a nice house, but that's pretty much it. Teaching pays the bills, at least."

Harry's smile fell away as he stared at Draco. "Merlin, you're serious, aren't you?"

Draco stopped smiling as well. "What?"

"Um, you didn't happen to find anything unusual on the desk in your father's old study when you went home last summer?"

"Unusual like what?"  
"Like a pair of keys and some really important papers."

"Not that I recall. Did you put them there?"

"No," Harry said, drawing out the word slowly. "But the Minister was supposed to see to it."

"See to what?"

"I will _kill_ Rufus Scrimgeour," Harry replied.

"Why? What's he done?"

"Can you leave for a minute? You can come right back. I just need to make a quick call."

Draco stepped out and went to do a sweep of Gryffindor Tower to ensure the students' rooms were clear and there were no forgotten objects lying about. The train had left an hour ago, so it wasn't much good to check now, he'd just finished checking before going to see Harry. At least it gave him something to do. He returned after that to find Harry again packing, his movements much more violent than before.

"Really, Harry, what has that poor jacket ever done to you?"

Harry turned around with an ugly scowl. "Scrimgeour is an ugly old bastard."

"Too true. What in particular causes you to bring it up?"

"Apparently," Harry said, red rising in his face, "he was just going to hang on to your stuff until he was convinced you deserved it."

"I have stuff?"

"You have," Harry grunted as he threw down the lid on his trunk and attempted to latch it, "a lot—ungh—of _stuff_."

"That's intriguing. The Minister has it, you say?"

"The Minister," Harry snarled, turning around triumphant over the trunk, "has the keys to your vaults."

"Vaults? What vaults?"

"At Gringotts. The Malfoy vault, for one. You also happen to be the only male heir of Bellatrix Lestrange. Draco, you have more money than _God_. Do you _know_ how much money your father and aunt had between them?"

"Um, I have a good idea," Draco said in a faint voice. "It's lots."

"And lots and lots and _lots_," Harry added for emphasis. "So what we're going to do is go down to the Ministry and have some very choice words with the Minister that will probably get me fired from my newly reacquired job."

"Perhaps we should avoid that."

"What, you don't want your inheritance?"

"It sounds very attractive and all, but maybe we should at least wait until you're not really, really angry."

"You could try being angry."

"I'm still sort of in shock. Plus I understand why he did it."

"I don't give an owl nut why he did it. It's theft."

"Well, ransom more like. Why is it so difficult for you to grasp that I have kind of a dark past?"

"Why is it so fucking difficult for everyone, including you, to grasp that your past is not the same thing as your future?"

"Um, good point."

"And your future, Draco, happens to include a bunch of money. Which we are going to go fetch for you."

"Maybe you should sit this one out."

"What, and leave my brother on his own?" Harry said with a little smile to show that he was trying really hard to relax. "Why, what do you suggest?"

"I like blackmail, actually," Draco said calmly.

"What? Really?"

"You do remember that I originally came from Slytherin."

"And?"

"And I think Rosemary Carthy needs something to do. She's been awfully quiet lately."

"This is a bad thing how?"

"Oh, I wasn't complaining. Just saying she might like a nice story to write up about the Minister."

Harry grinned. "Well, Scrimgeour can think she's writing it, anyway."

"Of course. I wouldn't actually throw her the scraps from the table. However, that lovely woman who interviewed Madam Pomfrey so respectfully could use a boost in her career . . ."

"Merlin, you actually mean to have someone expose this, don't you?"

"I just said I wasn't angry, not that I would mind getting even. Scrimgeour's a bit stale anyway. Maybe we can get them digging enough to uproot him. It's about time Kingsley got a promotion, isn't it?"

Harry shook his head in amazement. "I refuse to have a part in this. I'm a Ministry employee."

"You refuse?"

Harry wiggled his eyebrows. "On the record."

"Of course."

They set out for the Ministry, leaving Harry's trunk to pick up later.

"What are we going to do about Quidditch?" Draco sighed. "You won't be here anymore, and I'm certainly too busy to do it, with all the new students we're expecting next year."

"Didn't I tell you? I'm going to stay on the staff for that."

"You are?" Draco asked in delight.

"Just call me Madam Hooch."

"Ugh, no thanks. Glad to hear you'll be around, though."

"Will you?"

"What? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you don't have to be. I thought you were just here because you wanted to be, I didn't know you stayed because you thought you needed the job. You probably don't have to work a day in your life, assuming you're as good with your money as your dad was."

"He did teach me quite a few things," Draco agreed. "However, there is no way in hell I'm leaving Hogwarts, even if I go swimming in Galleons on Sundays. I love teaching."

Harry grinned. "I thought you'd say that. What are you going to do about Vianne, then?"

"Well, I have to say, being able to offer her that kind of life does alter things a bit." Draco frowned. "But not enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Come on, we're here, we'll have to talk about it later."

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_One more (fun!) chapter, one more article, and an epilogue, and then we're all through with Brothers and Sons! I will post article and epilogue at the same time, so it's only going to be a couple more days. So now it's time to tell you . . . I'm going to write another sequel. It's going to be set just about a year after this point, and it will mostly take place — dah dah dah! blows trumpet— in the United States! Yes, look out America, the Dynamic Duo of Dark Arts Defense (I came up with that myself, I'm so proud) is crossing the pond! I will give you more information in the next couple of days._

_Cheers,_

_Faren_


	41. Chapter 32: Forgiven

_Just so you know, I was looking forward to writing this chapter ever since I got it outlined. I love it. I hope you love it._

:D

Chapter Thirty-Two

Forgiven

Harry and Ginny both held one of Charley's hands and lifted her up into the air. She kicked her legs and squealed with glee. Crash trotted along at his father's side, too happy at being with him again to leave him for a moment. Matt trailed along more soberly, but with a glow about him that was unmistakable. His family was back.

Charley stopped laughing when she spotted Draco up ahead. She pulled her hands out of her parents' and dashed forward. "Pepesser Malfoy!" she yelled happily. "Pepesser, Pepesser!"

Laughing, Draco caught her at her dead run and lifted her up high to halt her trajectory before gathering her close to hug her. "Why, there's my favorite three-year-old," he said.

"Three and a _half_," she corrected him severely.

"Oh, my mistake. Your daddy says you are perfectly capable of saying the word 'professor' now, Miss Charley. You could call me Professor Malfoy, now."

"No, you're Pepesser," she said firmly.

"How about Draco? That's what your brother Sirius calls me."

Charley scrunched up her face and thought about this. "Okay, I can call you Draco," she said agreeably. Then she turned to look at Vianne, and immediately got quieter. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hello," Vianne said warmly. "You must be Charlotte Potter."

"Yes. But I'm Charley, too. Like Uncle Charlie."

"Oh, of course. Shall I call you Charley?"

"Yes."

Then she squirmed out of Draco's arms and ran back to her family, who were all laughing at her. Vianne slipped her arm through Draco's with a happy smile at him.

"She's adorable."

"Told you. I don't know how Harry does it, the ugly git," he said more loudly. "They must get their looks from their mother."

"You ought to know flattery doesn't work on me," Ginny said, giving him a sharp look that froze him and made him wonder if she wasn't quite so ready for this outing as Harry had said. "Especially with another woman on your arm." She winked.

Draco let out a relieved breath. "I'll keep it in mind."

Matt and Ran had caught each other's eye and immediately evaporated into thin air, which had gone unnoticed until this point.

"Has anyone seen my son?" Vianne asked mildly, unperturbed by the banter she'd been warned about.

"No, but I know where he is," Harry volunteered. "I can guarantee that he is with my son, gazing with rapture and longing at the new broomstick model I saw when we were heading this way."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "What model?"

"Firebolt three thousand and thirty seven or whatever the hell it is."

"Really?" Draco said, his voice too eager. Vianne pinched him. "Ow," he muttered.

"Behave," she said serenely.

"Don't worry, Draco, we can lose the girls at Madam Malkins. She's got some new formal wear on display for the ladies that I'm sure will need to be discussed in minute detail."

"I will be perfectly happy to shop with Vianne," Ginny said smoothly, "but if you think for one minute I'm not going to look at that broom, I'm getting you checked out for Confundus Charms."

The four adults poked around Diagon Alley and let the older boys have their own fun while slowly having their patience ground into dust by the incessant chatter of the other two children.

"If I ever have a kid, I'm removing its voice box at birth," Draco muttered when Crash pulled him down for the thousandth time to tell him about some random bone or another that he'd broken since Draco had last seen him. He nodded and made an appropriate comment, then stood up and sighed, giving Vianne a rueful look. "Now you know why I don't teach at primary school."

"Don't worry, Ran was never this chatty as a boy."

"No wonder you're still sane," Draco said in mock delight. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Vianne pinched him again.

Then they passed by the office to the _Daily Prophet_. A full-figured woman with attractive auburn hair was standing in the doorway and hollering at the top of her lungs, so it was hard to miss.

"You'll regret this!" she was saying to someone inside. "I have information you couldn't pay me enough for!"

"Miss Carthy, please don't cause a scene," a voice inside the office said.

"Fine. Just remember this when the publication who takes me on starts growing like mad!" she shouted. Then she spun around to face the woman who was waiting at her side. "Well, we'll just have to try someone else."

"I'm sick of this, Rosemary," the other woman said.

Harry and Draco, both of whom were already standing there with their jaws hanging open, could hardly believe their eyes when the woman turned around.

"Marjorie?" Draco choked.

"Marjorie Plumm, what . . ." Harry tried to ask.

"What are you doing with _her_?" Draco finished for him, staring at his fellow professor with disbelief. "Oh, Merlin, you're the one, aren't you? You're her contact inside Hogwarts."

The Muggle Studies teacher coloured a very unique shade of purple-red.

"Why?" Draco blurted out. "Why would you help her write all those lies about us?"

Marjorie's flush deepened, her eyes flashed, and it became apparent that she was not embarrassed, but angry.

"Don't ask me that question, Malfoy, like you don't deserve it," she snarled.

Draco took an involuntary step back, unconsciously blocking Vianne from Marjorie's ire with his body.

"The question of whether or not I deserve it aside . . . why?"

"I want to see you in ruins," Marjorie said, her voice trembling with rage. "I can lie and pretend and smile at you all day at school, so long as I can work to bring you down. Apparently I can't even do that anymore, since Rosemary's such a pariah. And here you are, strolling around like you haven't got a care in the world." She choked on her anger, but recovered quickly. "Like you don't deserve to be behind bars just like that pathetic brother of yours."

Draco lost his voice. He did deserve that. But, really. Marjorie seemed uncommonly angry about it.

"You seem to be holding onto that one when the rest of the world has let go of it," Harry said, trying to sound mild.

"At least he's _apologized_ to you," Marjorie said, shaking. "He never even made the effort to _tell_ me he's sorry."

Draco's guts twisted in panic. _No_. "No," he moaned aloud.

"You don't even remember me, do you?"

"Uh . . ."

"You killed my family, and you don't even remember me!"

Marjorie was completely unhinged, and threw herself forward. She was not a very large woman, and Draco caught her easily by the wrists, holding her back from causing him any physical harm. The damage she was doing to his emotions was fairly obvious to anyone who could see his face. He was crying. He struggled to hold the impossibly upset woman away, but he was crying. Then, suddenly, Marjorie realized he was stronger than she was, and she was crying, too. She sobbed helplessly.

"You killed them," she sobbed. "They didn't do anything to you. You killed them just for being Muggles. You and your old friends."

Draco's grip on her wrists loosened, and he let go. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Marjorie, I'm so sorry. Please believe me." Marjorie nearly fell over in the street, and Draco caught her. Miraculously, she let him. "Please, I'm so sorry. What I've done . . . no one could feel worse than I do."

"I believe you," she hiccupped.

"I can't ever apologize enough, Marjorie."

She struggled to speak.

"Tell me . . ." Draco whispered. "Tell me their names."

"My husband. David. My sister was Marianne. My father, Mark."

"David. Marianne. Mark," Draco repeated. "I've hurt you so badly. What can I do?"

"You can remember what you did," she answered.

Draco still held her, and his arms tightened around her at that. "I do. Every day. I'm sorry I didn't know their names, but I'm sure I know their faces. I see them . . . all the time."

Marjorie was silent for a long time. The crowd of people pressing in to see what was happening were being firmly rebuffed by the Potters, while Vianne just stood watching and wringing her hands.

"I know how sorry you are," Marjorie spoke suddenly. "I've been around you every day. I see how hard you try to make up for it."

"I am trying, but it's not enough," Draco answered. "I know that. I know it's never going to be enough for the people I've taken so much from, like you, Marjorie."

"No. It's enough. It's enough for me."

"What?"

Marjorie pushed away from him and looked at him. "You've paid it all back a hundred times by now. I just . . . I miss my family."

Draco was still crying. "I wish I could give them back to you."

"And I kept treating you like you were just refusing to do it. I know you would if you could. No, you've done enough, Draco. I've seen it. I want no more of this," Marjorie said, looking up at Rosemary, who was standing in the door of the newspaper office with her mouth open. "I don't want to help you anymore." She looked at Draco again. "I'm sorry for the way I acted. For helping her." She looked at Harry. "I'm sorry about involving your family, too." She sobbed again. "I wish I could say I'm as sorry as you are, Draco, but I don't think it's possible."

Draco embraced her again, letting her release a few more tears onto him. "God, I wish I had the right to ask forgiveness."

"Of course you have the right," Marjorie murmured. "And you have my forgiveness, for what it's worth."

"No, you can't give that to me. I don't deserve that."

"It's mine to give," she answered, and she finally got back to her own two feet. She looked around in shock at the crowded street that Harry, Ginny, and Matt were all trying to clear out. Her face went deeply red again, although with embarrassment this time. "Oh, no," she muttered. She took a step forward and was met with many curious eyes. "I just want to go home."

The hand of whomever had been chasing Rosemary out of the office reached past that woman to snag Marjorie's sleeve and yank her inside. "You can use the Floo in here."

Marjorie caught Draco's eye. "I'll— I'll see you in the fall. If they'll let me come back."

Draco nodded wordlessly. Marjorie went in and the door slammed shut. Rosemary looked at Draco calculatingly, and then she smiled and took a notepad out of her handbag.

"Would you like to comment on how you feel about what you did to that poor woman's family, Mr. Malfoy? Do you have any words for the public on the change of heart you've made so apparent since taking up your teaching position?"

Draco looked at Rosemary Carthy with nothing but disgust. He took Vianne's arm, and pointedly turned away from the reporter. "Come on, my love," he said loudly. "Let's get out of here."

"Mr. Potter," Carthy said in that same eager, predatory voice. "How do you feel about ending your relationship with Draco? Does it make you jealous? How do your children feel about losing the man who replaced their mother for so long? Ginny, how do you feel about resuming your marriage after his affair?"

Draco saw Harry standing there like a deer in the headlights, Ginny frozen beside him. They looked furious and helpless, and before he knew what he was doing, he had released Vianne and turned back around. He didn't realize the growling noise he was hearing came from his own throat.

The meaty crunch of impact echoed in the suddenly silent street, and Rosemary Carthy went sprawling onto the ground with a cry of pain, her notepad sailing off behind her. Draco grabbed his jarred knuckles with his other hand.

"You broke my nose!" Rosemary shouted, clutching her bleeding face in shock.

"If you knew _anything_ about me, you should have known better, you conniving bitch," Draco said with icy-cold fury. "You can say what you like about me, but you do not _ever_ fuck with my friends."

Both families exited Diagon Alley to the sounds of a very gratifying applause from their audience.

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"Poor thing," Vianne said, kissing Draco's bruised knuckles.

"Me or that cow?" he asked, sitting down on her parents' sofa.

"Both," she smiled, sitting beside him. Ran had proven once again wise beyond his years and taken his grandparents off somewhere. "I can't believe you punched her."

"She was going after my brother," Draco said.

"Yes, I know. I never said I didn't approve, just that I can't believe it."

"What a day," he sighed, leaning back. "I'm sorry it didn't go as planned."

"That's all right. At least I know you'll never be boring."

Draco chuckled wearily. "I really am, most of the time. You keep seeing me on my exciting days."

"With the exception of the day you fell asleep in my lap."

"Oh, yes. Merlin, that was the best nap I've had since I was four and my father said I was too old for them. I always felt guilty for taking them after that."

"You ought to feel guilty about leaving me to sit there and watch you sleep."

"No, that day I wasn't feeling guilty, actually. We were all at the breaking point. Did I tell you that Harry had to force me to call you? I told him I would just fall asleep if I was allowed to relax."

"You look like you're about to fall asleep now. But I'm glad you didn't feel guilty." Her face was deadly serious. "You're never without guilt of some kind, are you?"

Draco closed his eye. "No."

"Didn't Marjorie's forgiveness help at all?"

"Not if I don't believe it."

"How could you make light of what she did today?" Vianne asked with anger.

"I'm not making light of it. I just don't think I can accept it."

"You're awfully arrogant, aren't you?" she snapped.

Draco sat up straight and looked at her. "What?"

"You think it's up to you to decide whether or not you deserve forgiveness, whether or not you can accept it from someone. Well, that's not the way it works. The one doing the forgiving decides that."

Draco was at a loss.

"And you know what? She didn't say anything today that hasn't been said to you a hundred times already. Or doesn't my opinion count for anything, either?"

"Vianne . . ."

"Do stop feeling sorry for yourself, Draco. If you want to become a better man, then you have to set aside the past. You have to do it, inside yourself."

"I don't know if I can."

"Try. Just try. Look at yourself as I see you."

He did try. But he shook his head. "If you take away my past, all you've got is a rather wealthy and very ugly man."

"Ugly? Who said you were ugly?"

Draco laughed in disbelief. "Have you not seen my face recently? Been paying attention to the way I walk?"

"Is that supposed to mean you're ugly?" Vianne's tone was light, but her face wasn't. She gazed at him intently. "I missed the memo."

"Vianne, please understand. I want to be here with you, forever, more than I've ever wanted anything, but I know this can't last forever. Eventually you're going to realize who you're talking to."

"Let's not have this conversation again, please."

"No, I mean . . . you're talking to a guy with a bum leg, one eye, and a smashed-up face. Why would even want to be seen in public with me?"

"You have a point. I guess we'll just have to stay indoors."

"I'm serious, Vianne." He was in tears, he was so frustrated with her attempts to make light of what he was saying. "You can have someone so much better than me."

"I doubt it. I don't see many other men who work as hard as you do to be a good person, or do their job so well, or show such a caring and compassionate heart. And I definitely don't see any other men lining up to take up the role you've taken in my son's life. If I look at all that, how am I supposed to see which eye is missing?"

Draco took a deep, shaking breath and did something he'd sworn to himself he'd never do. He put his hand to his face and lifted away the eyepatch to reveal the wrinkled, empty socket.

"It's this one" he whispered.

Vianne leaned forward and kissed him there. He hissed in surprise and did not move a muscle. He could feel his entire body quivering with the desire to move, but it couldn't seem to decide where to begin. Vianne . . . this beautiful, graceful, spirited woman could not possibly have any desire for him, not seeing this. But when her lips left that awful place, she did not back away in disgust. She did not back away at all. She leaned close again and pressed a kiss to the lumpy ridge of his cheekbone that was usually half-disguised by the eyepatch—the result of not knowing he'd had the money for more surgery. Then she kissed a trail down the faint, hair-thin scar on his cheek where they'd closed his face up after pulling out the shattered pieces of bone. Her breath blew against his ear, and he shivered, still sitting perfectly still with his hands clenched at his sides. Vianne's kisses moved along his jaw, that utterly imperfect jaw, and forward . . .

When her lips latched onto his, all the movement he'd been containing exploded outward in a rush. His hands flew up to press against her back, holding her in place, his legs wrapped around hers, and his entire body shifted to cause her to fall forward over him. He traced his hands over the smooth curve of her back, kissing her with near desperation. Her hand tangled in his hair and he could feel her lips curving into a smile even as he dipped his head to capture them.

"You do have such beautiful hair," she murmured, her breath whispering across his cheek.

His response was to try to claim her lips.

"You're going to have such beautiful children."

"Children?" he squawked, sitting bolt upright and nearly flinging her to the floor.

She was unperturbed. "Yes. An heir for that vast fortune of yours, of course, I've been planning on that. But I saw you with Charlotte today. You need a little girl, too."

Draco stared at her. "You have a thirteen-year-old."

"I married young. The first time, that is. Hopefully age and experience have taught me a few things."

"You want to get married?"

"Oh, Draco, even my first husband proposed better than that."

"No, really? Married? To me?"

"Well, I assume you weren't kissing me like that merely because I happen to be in the room."

"No, but I . . . I don't want an heir. I want my name to end with me."

"Too bad," she said, "because I want to have your son. He'll be beautiful, like you." She leaned forward to kiss him again.

"But . . . I'm serious. No more Malfoys."

"That's just sad, Draco. Unless what you're trying to say is that you don't really believe people can change, or that you can restore some pride to your family name. Which would be foolish, and I know you're not foolish."

"Vianne," he tried again, with her lips against his and her body trying to push him back again.

"Shut up, Draco. I haven't been kissed properly in years."

He obliged her for a minute, and chuckled. "I used to think you were sort of timid," he said when they broke for oxygen.

"Well, you have been known to miss a few things, like what a wonderful man you really are."

Draco kissed her some more. "I miss a lot of things. For example. I just realized we let Rosemary Carthy escape with information she thinks the _Prophet_ couldn't pay her enough for."

"Are you going to keep talking? My lips don't kiss themselves."

"I'll shut up now," he said agreeably, and did just that.

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_See? Bestest chapter in the whole story. Rosemary gets punched in the face, and Vianne kisses the hell out of Draco, who has been in need of a thorough snog for about two years._

_So, more information about the sequel. It's going to be very AU, because I'm going to be creating my own version of what the wizarding U.S. looks like. However, a lot of the story is going to take place at a normal, Muggle, high school. There is going to be a LOT of new characters, and some really fun deep-cover investigating of criminal activity by Harry and Draco. Oh, and Crash's first girlfriend. If for no other reason, I hope you read it for that._

_Anyway, later today or tomorrow I post the final article and the epilogue, both quite short. I will have a little more information on the sequel at that time, as well._


	42. Article 9

To the Magical Community—

My name is Zacharias Smith. Some of you may recall me as the former Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts. You will also recall that I resigned in protest of Draco Malfoy's continued employment at the school. I now confess that I was wrong, but I must first explain the depths of my ignorance.

I am writing this as something of a preemptive, before anyone else can announce what I must tell you. I am the so-called "mysterious" owner of a magazine called _Wandwork Weekly_, up until now edited by a woman named Rita Skeeter. In public, I have simply been an employee at the Ministry, but I have also been financing the humiliation that is that magazine. I grew horrified by the way Ms. Skeeter and her favourite writer, Ms. Carthy, overstepped my intentions for the magazine, but found myself powerless to stop them without my name becoming public. _Wandwork Weekly_ quickly took on a life of its own.

I started that publication with the idea that it would be a place for those of us who protested Draco Malfoy's pardon to make ourselves heard. I certainly did not intend for it to be used to stain the reputation of Harry Potter, for whom I have the deepest admiration, nor my former employer Minerva McGonagall. Least of all did I intend to allow Rosemary Carthy to attempt to foster such discontent in our society. I became convinced of Mr. Malfoy's worth to the school and to the wizarding world long ago, but Ms. Carthy continued to behave in the unbecoming manner so many of you took it upon yourselves to denounce, when I found myself unable to do so.

I would like to offer my deepest gratitude to Ms. Luna Lovegood, editor and owner of _The Quibbler_, for her efforts on behalf of two men whom I now respect most sincerely. I also thank the many contributors to her magazine for their hard work and dedication toward putting an end to the monster I so unwittingly created. I especially offer thanks to the two contributers called "The Harpy" and "Rhea Silvia," whose voices have become so inspiring to so many in our world.

Finally, I would like to offer my best wishes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as they prepare for a new term. I am delighted to hear that Mr. Remus Lupin will be returning to once again take up the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I wish him luck, even as I am most confident of his teaching skills, having been the recipient of them at one time. I am also confident that Draco Malfoy will continue to perform with usual excellence at the school and provide an example to all the professors with his dedication and hard work.

We are going through a time of unease as we sadly bid farewell to our esteemed Minister Scrimgeour, and wish him a happy retirement, but we must also look to the future. Kingsley Shacklebolt will be an admirable Minister, indeed, I cannot think of anyone more suited to pick up where Minister Scrimgeour must leave us. I am not surprised to hear that Harry Potter will be replacing him as Head of the Auror department, and I join you all in wishing him luck as well. Hopefully the return of the heroic Nymphadora Lupin will bring him all the support he so deserves.

I close by again apologizing most sincerely for what I have allowed to happen, and by pledging that it will not happen again. I have discontinued _Wandwork Weekly_, and I hope that this message will reach all those who have been influenced by its destructive methods.

Regretfully,

Zacharias Smith


	43. Epilogue: Recovery

Epilogue

Recovery

"Are you glad to have the Lupins back in England?"

Harry sipped his mead and nodded, a distant look in his eyes. "I would be even happier if they sent Quentin and Barry home."

"Isn't Barry talking, now?"

"Yeah. Quentin is, too. The Healers say they're not ready to go back home yet, though."

"They will be, though. They've been recovering much better than we expected."

"You're optimistic."

"Something no one will ever accuse you of being." Draco, sprawled comfortably in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, raised his mead to the firelight. "I love this colour," he sighed.

"You are so pathetic."

"And engaged. Don't forget engaged."

"Like you'd let me."

Draco smiled, his eye sparkling with relaxation and good humour. "Quentin and Barry are getting better, we got a letter from Ferris and Felicity, you and Ginny are back together for good, I'm engaged _and_ well-off—"

"You _could_ have been fabulously wealthy instead."

"Please. Cousin Dora is just as much Bellatrix's heir as I am, and she deserved to have it. Anyway, continuing the optimism . . . your kids are happy—not to mention asleep and not trying to talk me to death right now—and Ran's happy, the Lupins are here and ready to get back to work—everything's going so well."

"I know. Something awful's bound to happen any minute."

Draco ignored him, his lazy smile still in place. "Not to mention Zacharias Smith _intentionally_ proving he's a git, Rosemary Carthy's career in tatters, Kingsley sworn in as Minister, and you appointed head of your department."

"I had nothing to do with any of that," Harry said.

"On the record."

"Of course."

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading __Brothers and Sons__, to the bitter end, and I hope you enjoyed it enough to read the next installment of the series, entitled __A Foreign Language__. Happy reading!_

_Contentedly,_

_Faren_


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